


Always Be

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: Kuroo grows up once, and falls in love twice.





	1. Chapter One

Kuroo's mother dies when he's eight years old, but she's sick a long time before that.

Before Kuroo is eight, he goes to school. His mother waits for him by the gates at the end of each day, and they walk home together. 

He hears other children scolded for being impatient, antsy, running too far ahead, but Kuroo is always careful to match his mother's slow, unsteady steps, so they won't be separated, and if she feels weak, he'll be there to steady her, or hold her hand, so she knows it's okay. 

When they stop at the market along the way, Kuroo pulls the wrapped beef and spices when she points to them on the shelves. He places them in the cart, then carries them home, puts them away, and on her good days, helps her cook. 

On her bad days, she lies down the rest of the afternoon. 

"Tet-chan, please," she says, in a very tired voice, petting down his hair. "I'll be fine, go play."

But Kuroo's always been tall for his age. His mother tells him all the time, how strong and tall he is, and how proud she is of that, and how he's growing taller and stronger every day! 

Kuroo's height and strength are good for a lot of things, they make him the fastest in foot races, the strongest in arm wrestling matches, make the baseballs he hits and soccer balls he kicks turn into tiny dots on the horizon during gym, but Kuroo knows they're _mostly_ important because he can help his mother, and be useful.

As an adult Kuroo will vividly remember the stool he stood on in the kitchen, next to his father, carefully cutting along the pale belly of the yellow fin tuna his mother bought for dinner, while she sleeps in the next room. He only feels excitement about it, because he can't understand, yet, why it's a bad thing that his mother has to rest so often, but he knows he's doing a good job on the tuna. His mother will be happy when she wakes up, and this – being useful, helping someone he loves – is the best feeling Kuroo knows.

~

After Kuroo is eight, Kuroo's father spends most of his time at work, in his office, shuffling home late at night, smelling like what Kuroo will eventually learn is very cheap beer. 

But Kuroo already knows how to take care of himself, whether his mother or father are there or not. 

Kuroo wakes himself up for school in the mornings, packs himself lunch, walks home alone, and does his homework when he gets there. With no one to say otherwise, he stays up very late with mystery books, with riddles and crimes that characters have to solve by gathering clues and paying attention. Kuroo likes this a lot, because the answers are already there, already in the story, just waiting to be assembled, and he always grins, proud, when he puts it together before the story tells him the answer. 

Kuroo learns that this is called _science_. Science is the blueprint behind everything: water is water, but it's also hydrogen and oxygen, which is also in the air, and in space, and in Kuroo himself.

Everything inside Kuroo is inside Kenma, too.

Kenma lives seven houses down from Kuroo. 

He's quiet, small, and prickly. When he's upset, his face scrunches up like a baby eating something new for the first time. 

Kuroo and Kenma both have pituitary glands nestled in their brain stems, but Kuroo's produces more somatotropin than Kenma's does. Kuroo knows this, because one summer while they're eating lunch together, he looks down at their legs, side by side, and Kenma's is much, much thinner. His body in general is smaller than just one year of difference accounts for. 

Curious, and excited by the idea that this is a problem that can be solved like the ones in his books, that he can help Kenma in the way he likes to be useful, Kuroo reads on the internet about things that wake up the pituitary gland.

The internet tells him to use pills and greens and proteins. He can't find the pills, but he tells Kenma about the proteins and greens and tries to get Kenma to eat them, but Kenma is stubborn, like a sick animal, refusing to open his mouth for anything that might actually help him. 

"Activity is good for it, too," Kuroo tells him, while trying to balance a volleyball on his head. "Working out and running, playing outside – don't you want to get taller?"

"I don't care," Kenma says. He's not looking at Kuroo, he's sitting in his dark bedroom, staring at the television screen as he plays, and he really, truly does not care, Kuroo can tell.

The ball drops from Kuroo's head, to the floor.

"Hey."

Kuroo kicks the volleyball on the floor toward Kenma, where he sits, inches from his screen. The ball bumps into Kenma's thigh, and Kenma scowls, hunching in on himself deeper.

"I'll play two levels of this with you, if you play an hour of volleyball with me," Kuroo offers, graciously.

"No."

"That's a good deal!"

"All the achievements I'm earning are single player," Kenma says. "Two player would be a waste."

Kuroo frowns, he grabs the ball and kicks it toward Kenma again. They're not hard kicks, just enough to bounce off Kenma's leg, then back to Kuroo's foot, over and over.

"Stop it," Kenma whines.

Sometimes, Kuroo likes to pretend that Kenma is secretly an alien, or a gremlin, or some other creature – _not_ from the same place or made of the same things as Kuroo – who is trying to pretend to be a boy, and needs Kuroo's help to navigate the world. 

But that's make believe. In reality, Kuroo knows Kenma is just a very awkward, pale boy, who likes video games, and his dark room, more than anything. 

Kuroo frowns, balancing the ball on his head again. 

"It'll be more fun if you're there," he says. "It's not much of a practice if I'm by myself."

A soft, short groan. 

Kuroo says nothing, waiting, sensing his victory. 

"… Two more levels."

Kuroo grins, and watches two more levels of Kenma killing zombies, then drags him outside, into the sun. 

~

So far, junior high is way better than grade school. 

First, Kuroo joins a volleyball club, which has eight players, more than enough for a full team, and he gets a uniform, even though he's just a first year. His senpai have been playing volleyball for a while, they have experience and teach him how to spike harder, and how to get a serve over the net, all the way from the back line. 

Second, they have classes with different teachers that are broken up by subject. Kuroo likes this a lot. He looks forward to his third class of the day, which is science, and it's a whole hour. His science teacher is short and old, and likes Kuroo's questions – whenever he has one, she asks Kuroo a bunch of questions in return, which help Kuroo figure out the answers himself. He always has lots of ideas when she asks for suggestions for class.

"We could get a bottle of methane, and a cup of soapy water, and you force the methane gas into the water, and it gets caught in the soap bubbles, and then you can set them on fire and it goes up in this jet of flame – "

"Maybe in high school, Tetsuro-kun," his teacher laughs. 

Third, Kuroo's father starts giving him weekly spending money.

It's supposed to be for lunch, but Kuroo figures out that he can save it by only getting small things, or bringing food from home, and by the start of his second year, he has enough to buy the kind of sneakers kids from powerhouse schools are wearing. 

Kenma looks nervous at the shoe store as Kuroo grabs different boxes from the shelves, trying to find brands and designs he likes. Sometimes Kenma does this, becomes twitchier and antsier than normal, sinking deeper behind his hair. Usually it's obvious why, but today Kuroo's not sure. 

"You're going to outgrow them," Kenma says as he watches Kuroo try a pair on. "Really fast."

"Well," Kuroo says. "When I do, I'll start saving to buy new ones."

"Won't your father be – upset?" Kenma asks, quietly, like he thinks Kuroo will get mad about the question.

"Nah," Kuroo says, forcing his heel down into the sneaker, understanding Kenma's fretting, now. 

Kenma's parents are very normal people. They like traveling, and having visitors, and going to the beach and to festivals, and Kuroo can tell they're confused by Kenma, a lot. They love him dearly, though, and they're careful with him. His mother makes him breakfasts and dinners, packs his lunches, and knows his schedule well enough to include snacks when club activities go long.

Kenma had worried the same way he is now when he saw Kuroo buy meat buns from the convenience store, rather than getting something proper from the lunch cart at school, thinking it was some sort of rebellion. If Kenma wanted a new pair of sneakers, he would have to get permission. Kuroo's father would probably be confused if Kuroo asked. 

Kuroo picks up one of the discarded pairs of shoes. "Look, these are the kind you need. Ankle support."

Kenma grimaces. "I don't need ankle support."

"You do. You have very weak ankles," Kuroo says, knowledgeably, pressing down at the front of his shoe to test how much room there is to grow. 

"No, I don't," Kenma says.

"Yes, you do," Kuroo says.

Kenma is going to junior high this year, he already promised – _promised_ – that he's going to join the volleyball team. Instead of having to walk down the seven houses to play with Kenma using the little net Kuroo set up in the yard, Kenma will be on the same team, practicing in the very same gym, tossing for Kuroo in real, actual games.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Kenma says, scowling because he's still upset about Kuroo questioning his ankle stability. 

"Why not? I'm getting new shoes," Kuroo says, smiling _like that_ wider. "And you'll need new ones, too, if you're getting serious about volleyball."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

The disagreement lasts all the way up to the counter, Kuroo ultimately winning but only because Kenma is unwilling to continue the ridiculously childish fight in front of the stranger behind the register.

~

Kenma shows up on his first day of volleyball club fresh off a growth spurt that makes his legs look especially thin and coltish, the shoes on his feet brand new and oversized, swimming in his gym clothes.

He's the only first year to join, and hardly the most impressive figure in the gym, but the team is welcoming, and excited to learn that Kenma's addition brings actual, practical experience setting. 

The routines he and Kuroo have established over the years impress the coach, and grow even sharper and faster during the next year with his help, while Kenma flourishes as setter, learning the game in a way Kuroo could never fully explain with lines drawn in the dirt and old videos. He tosses for spikers other than Kuroo, receives, blocks, and rotates around the court, elements that had been well beyond two players and one measly net. 

Kenma has never been all that enthusiastic about playing, so Kuroo worries these new, complicated steps will distance Kenma even more, but Kenma really does like games. The coach and senpai explain the rotations, the limitations of a libero, a setter, boundaries, fouls, and Kenma listens with wide, unblinking eyes, like a cat trained a mouse, memorizing its patterns and movements, getting ready to pounce.

The junior high sports meets are not especially competitive in their area, and having a real, specialized setter is enough to put them head and shoulders above most of the teams they play. Kenma carries them through two tournaments, and wins seven games altogether, finally losing in their last tournament to a powerhouse school that funnels students directly into one of the more athletic academies in Tokyo. 

It's seen as a solid victory for their scrawny little team, and they're all congratulated at the year end acknowledgments, praised by the principal for representing the school honorably, with their focus and hard work. 

Then they're dismissed, and Kuroo's senpai are officially graduates. 

The third years made up more than half of the team, but Kuroo is hardly discouraged. He still has Kenma, and he's already making plans for next year. He and Kenma will practice harder than ever this summer, get even better, and when the new year begins, Kuroo will train his first years the way his senpai trained him. They will dominate the local sports meet, and move on to compete against the rest of Tokyo. 

These daydreams occupy his mind the entirety of his break, a constant, pleasant burn. They’re a distraction during crowded, boring rides on the train, and muggy, hot afternoon alone in his empty, dark house. A distraction as he hauls his father inside, after finding him passed out on the porch, a distraction from the man’s slurred, belligerent, nonsensical insults as he helps him to his bedroom. 

His eagerness rises steadily, until it's the morning of, Kuroo pulls on his fresh uniform, waits at Kenma's gate, and spends the first train ride of the year to school tapping his feet impatiently. Irritated by this and barely awake at Kuroo's side, Kenma puts his own foot on top of Kuroo's, stilling it against the floor. Grinning wider, Kuroo taps heavier, Kenma's leg forced to bob along with it, until he gives up with a heavy sigh. 

Anticipation officially hits its peak at the end of the academic school day, when the clock finally hits three, and Kuroo hurries down the halls, to the gym, and as captain, is handed a list of all the new applicants. He scans the sheet quickly, seeing four names. Four applicants. Six third years graduated last year, but well - it's enough for a team of six! With a libero to rotate in, even, and Kuroo knows that's all he needs. In this sheet, these four names, he sees certain victory.

His vision has cleared by the end of their first practice.

None of the first years are especially skinny or weak or short. They're average. But they're easy going. When it's time for introductions, they sit on the floor in a semi-circle, informal and unbothered, and Kuroo inhales shaky disappointment. Even the ball seems bored, rolling from one first year to the other slowly, their discussion meandering lazily from one topic to the next - one of them had _wanted_ to join basketball, but it's full... they're worried about their grades... there's this one girl in class, their math teacher is picking on them already, and when do club activities end again? 

To the first years, this is a club, and nothing more. Then there's Kenma, who's only there for Kuroo. Then there's an enthusiastic but hopelessly clumsy third year who has always cried when he messes up during practice. 

As captain, it's up to Kuroo to fix this, but there's really nothing to be done. He can't make them care, and trying to be strict, shouting when they show up late or mess around would only make them less likely to show up at all. 

He does his best to practice, hoping to encourage them to join, but usually only Kenma does, and it's clearly out of pity. 

The end of the year comes trundling along, regardless of how Kuroo feels about it, bringing their final and most important sports meet. Kuroo is the only member of the team with any real nerves, the rest of them buzz with a giddy kind of energy usually found during field trips. They're swept away in the novelty of it all, the uniforms, the size of the gyms, the hustle of the crowds, the imposing, confident auras from other, more serious teams.

Kuroo told himself, multiple times throughout the year, whenever his team lost interest during practice, when they sat out during warm ups, when they showed up late and left early, that he was prepared to lose, and he would accept this loss gracefully.

In this moment, though, Kuroo only feels frustrated desperation. He and Kenma are as polished as ever, he thinks. _They_ haven't been slacking off... _As long as the team gets the ball to Kenma_ , they could do – _something_. 

But no one likes receives. Kuroo could never get any of them to seriously invest in spiking practice, the most glamorous practice there is, let alone the thankless, difficult task of receiving. No one on his team had even wanted to wear the libero colors once they found out it was for typically shorter players, and Kuroo had been forced to make them draw straws, the loser is still pouting about it, enduring teasing from the rest of the first years.

They're probably not going to get the ball to Kenma. 

"Riku! We're all waiting! Get in line!" 

"Yes, Yaku-san!!"

Kuroo looks over. On the other side of the court, their opponent has arrived. They're here to win, and it's clear in everything about them, from their posture to their shoes. Kuroo's eyes land on a libero – Yaku-san, apparently – clapping his hands, encouraging his team into the spike line. He looks like an underclassmen, but, then again, liberos are short. He's definitely being respected like a third year, like a captain, even, the rest of the team hurrying into place, where the setter starts tossing practice spikes their way.

They hit with impressive force, and when one of them starts practicing serves, he does an actual jump, and the ball slams the back line with ease.

Shit.

"Hey – hurry it up! We're practicing receives!" Kuroo tries. 

" _Alright_ ," sighs one of his first years, slowly standing, swaying lazily. The rest follow suit, and partner up.

"Can't we practice spikes instead??" one of them mutters.

Kuroo pretends not to hear it, looking over at their opponents again. He's just in time to see Yaku giving them a quick, cursory glance, his gaze traveling from one player to the next without settling, moving past Kuroo without seeing anything worthy of a second look.

"Don't think we can slack off just cause they're inexperienced!" Yaku shouts. 

Humiliation and anger race in Kuroo, each trying to overtake the other, with anger winning out. He's annoyed with himself for pretending he'd be alright with losing, yeah, and he's annoyed with his team, but the stare of that player. That tiny, noisy player, bossing around the rest of his team. That tiny, bossy libero, passing by Kuroo and writing him off, like he's not even a threat. It sets Kuroo on fire, and in those three minutes before the game begins, Kuroo is hellbent on proving that _little libero_ wrong, anyway he can. 

"Just get the ball to our setter," Kuroo says, stretching his shoulder, impatient to begin. "We've still got a chance if all of us get the ball to the setter." 

"Which one of us is the setter?" One of his first years whispers to the other.

And this is Kuroo's humiliating farewell to junior high volleyball. 

~

Kuroo puts in his application to Nekoma at the earliest possible date, and it's actually Kenma's mother who helps with preparation for the exam and interview with the administration. 

She finds an old suit of her husband's that fits Kuroo's rapidly broadening shoulders, hemming the sleeves down, and finds a product that will tame his obnoxious bedhead for at least a few hours. She goes over some of the prep questions with him one last time, then asks about the rest of his choices for high school, just in case. 

"Just Nekoma," Kuroo says, and the face she makes in response to this reminds Kuroo of trying to wake Kenma up for early morning jogs: confused, horrified disbelief.

"You're very bright, Tetsuro-kun," she says. "A lot of schools would be happy to have you."

But Kuroo has a good feeling about this. Nekoma has faded from most of Tokyo's attention, but Kuroo still associates them with championships. He follows the high school tournaments and has seen them steadily rising, ranking higher and higher each season, and knows they've got dedicated, serious players. 

That's what Kuroo wants. Plus they have accelerated math and science programs, plus they're close enough that he won't have to wake up early for the train, plus it's where his mother went, _plus_ their colors are red and black. 

Kuroo is candid about all this in his interview, and combined with his grades, recommendations from teachers, and after school activities, it secures him a position at Nekoma before the rest of his classmates have even started taking their exams. He's not cruel enough to brag, of course, not to anyone but Kenma, who would certainly be joining him next year, so it's not really a cruel thing at all. 

~

High school is… different from junior high.

First, Kuroo joins the volleyball team. 

And he was right, the players he meets in volleyball club are focused and driven. But first years aren't allowed in the clubhouse, they have find an empty classroom to change in. They clean up after practices alone, while the second and third years watch, then return to that empty classroom to change back again. Only first years who make it as a regular are given uniforms, as well, and Kuroo is quickly informed that this hasn't happened in years, and not to hold his breath.

Second, the school work is much, much harder. 

Kuroo has generally just bubbled up to the top of his classes in the past, he enjoys learning and isn't put off by hard work. Classes are longer, though, the workloads heavier, the exams more intense. Still, he places in the college prep classes and in chemistry he gets to plan out actual experiments with actual chemicals, writing out his hypothesis and testing it out, it's like he's learning a new language, a new way of arranging his thoughts, organized and exact.

 _Question_ – How is Kenma's patience for auditory stimulation impacted by proximity? 

_Hypothesis_ – If I chew gum a meter away from Kenma's ear, he will be less likely to react than if I chew gum five centimeters away from Kenma's ear.

 _Experiment_ – 

~

"Hey," Kuroo says, sitting down close enough to drape his arm over Kenma's shoulder, leaning in to see the game he's currently playing, chewing with wide, open mouthed smacks. 

" _Gross_ ," Kenma says, putting up his arm and pushing Kuroo away by the neck, giving Kuroo a quick double take of confusion and disgust before refocusing on his PSP. 

~

 _Results_ – Kenma attempted to remove the closer auditory stimulus after .28 seconds of exposure.

 _Conclusion_ – Kenma's patience for auditory stimulation diminishes in step with proximity. 

~

Third. Is Yaku.

~

Kuroo has never been a sore loser. 

His frustrated anger from the tournament had dimmed to an embarrassed memory, but flares to new life when he enters the Nekoma gym and sees Yaku there, the indignity of his loss hitting full force. Looking down at Yaku's face, _finally_ worthy of his attention, apparently, only to find out the obnoxious little jerk doesn't even remember Kuroo.

Kuroo is too pragmatic to think this is actually justified, he knows Yaku did nothing wrong. Really, all he did was play a game of volleyball, and play it well, and it's stupid to hold that against him. Usually that would be enough to calm down any irrational annoyance, Kuroo should be able to let this go, but Yaku stares up at him with an identical look of irritated annoyance, and it's – it's – 

It's _something_ Kuroo's never experienced before, but it's _strong_.

Kuroo has never actually wanted to beat up anyone, ever, the only time he's physically fought was rough housing, and even then, he'd been hotly aware of the physical difference between himself and his friends, uncomfortable about the advantage, holding back, more scared of causing injury than wanting to win. 

This aggression is off the court, it's _personal_ , just for Yaku, it lights up his body, and brings tension with it, with no clear way to release it. 

So maybe Kuroo is a sore loser when it comes to this – Yaku guy. But he's forgiven worse, and he's on the same team as Yaku so it just makes _sense_ to get along, but every time – every time Yaku says _anything_ , all Kuroo can see is big, red buttons to press about how _wrong_ Yaku is.

"Sounds like a jerk," Kenma says, blandly, when Kuroo complains about it.

" _He's not,_ " Kuroo seethes. The asshole works hard, and he shares the same goals Kuroo: to dominate nationals, he stated it, loud and unashamed at Kuroo's side. He pulls his weight during clean up at the end of practice, and he's good. He's passionate and he's nice. He's always happy to speak with Kai, smiling quickly, enthusiastically going on about whatever they're discussing, and why does that make Kuroo angrier??

~

 _Question_ – Yaku????

 _Hypothesis_ – What??

 _Experiment_ – Talk to Yaku. Don't get angry.

 _Results_ – 

~

"Hey."

It's lunchtime, and Yaku glances up from his notes when Kuroo sits in the open desk in front of him. He narrows his eyes, looking Kuroo up and down, as if trying to spot a trap.

"… Hey," Yaku finally says back, caged and careful, eyes still narrow.

Kuroo feels it building so fast and so strong in him that he has to clench his fist, jerking to his feet and out of the classroom again without another word. 

~

 _Conclusion_ – Fuck that guy??

~

"Can anyone describe to me the issue with Genta's experiment? Yes, go ahead."

"It wasn't clearly defined."

"That's exactly right," their teacher says, and writes _RESEARCH_ on the board, underlining it twice. "If you don't have a baseline understanding of the subject, then you're not going to understand your question, your experiment, or your results. That means you've got to do _research_."

~

Kuroo evaluates Yaku from a distance.

He watches Yaku sweep the floors of gym after practice, and learn to block follow, to do a falling dive without knocking the wind out of his chest. He watches him talk with Kai, and their classmates. He watches him frown as he struggles through a complicated formula in math. He watches him pull out his lunch box from his bag and open it with calm, practiced movements, then immediately start stuffing his face impatiently as soon as he gets the chopsticks balanced between his fingers, and watches him struggle to stay awake during the class right after that, when their teacher dims the lights for a video. 

There's nothing objectively offensive about Yaku. He's mouthy, sometimes, but in a generally playful way. He's not overly rude or proud or anything. 

Kuroo is forced to admit that Yaku is probably not the subject in need of research. 

It's Kuroo himself. 

What is _subjectively_ offensive about Yaku?

Yaku's not shy about sharing his opinion, but neither is Kuroo, and this is nothing that Kuroo's disliked about others in the past. 

Yaku is disgustingly talented – the third years have taken to betting on how long Yaku can keep a rally going during practice as they hit spike after spike over the net, Yaku diving and rolling, scooping them up one after another. They're quick to taunt Kuroo and Kai, asking when they'll be able to do the same. Kai takes the teasing with a laugh, while Kuroo – somewhat foolishly – declares that he will, this time, he'll match Yaku's record and smash it. His receives improve rapidly with Yaku watching, smug, from the sidelines, but he never quite manages to live up to his own boasting. 

So for a while Kuroo thinks that might be it, he might just be jealous, but no.

The box of new uniforms arrive two days before their first practice match of the year, and there's one uniform left at the bottom once the third and second years grab theirs, white and red instead of red and white. Size small. 

He knows he was right, that Yaku actually is kind, even kinder than he would've thought, when he doesn't gloat about this, simply pulling on his uniform, a proud regular, standing on the court, while Kai and Kuroo wait to the side, still in their maroon track suits. 

Kuroo's not entirely sure of his reaction to this, but looking at the third year libero standing beside them in the warm up box, he can confidentially say it's nothing like the jealousy on his face. 

The restless irritation in him lays quiet, still there, but dormant. Being jealous of Yaku's libero status, Kuroo supposes, would be like being jealous of Kenma as a setter. Kuroo's not a libero or a setter. Even if he had managed to outperform Yaku as a receiver, he was never going to be given the libero's spot. He wasn't competing with Yaku over this. 

Yaku is – just inherently _different_ , the same way Kenma is. Except _not_ , and Kuroo isn't any closer to understanding anything.

~

"You get loud," Kenma says.

"What?"

"When you talk about that player. Yaku," Kenma says. "It makes you loud."

It's late, Kenma's parents are probably watching television or sleeping, and Kuroo winces, voice dropping. "Sorry."

"Not like that," Kenma says, but is unable to clarify what it _was_ like, what sort of thing, what part of Kuroo had become loud. 

~

"You know, it's the last practice before winter break," says a second year senpai, Hojo, leaning against the wall, twirling the key ring on his finger. "I think we deserve to lock up a little early."

"There's still a lot of clean up left… "

"I guess the first years better hurry, then."

Kuroo rolls his eyes at the threat. They wouldn't seriously lock them in –

He exchanges a look with Kai, then Yaku, who both freeze in the middle of wiping the sweat from their faces.

_Right?_

But the second year senpai are a bit more sadistic than the third years, who have already left. They might think it's funny, might try to teach them a lesson, trapping them in here for an hour or two. Or more. 

All three of them surge at once. 

" _Hurry_ ," Kai says, passing Kuroo a broom, before running to take down the net. Across the gym, Yaku is scrambling to gather the balls. 

Kuroo has swept half of the court when he passes by Yaku, still struggling with the same damn corner of the gym. He's about to bark at him to stop messing around, but a second look shows Yaku isn't, at all – he's moving as quickly as he can, it's just the length of Yaku's arms makes carrying anything more than four volleyballs at a time a struggle.

Kuroo watches as Yaku tries for a fifth, bending down, straining to hold them, and fail. All five balls in his arms tumble to the floor, scattering.

Kuroo pauses.

There's the elusive answer he was seeking, dropping, sudden and hot into his gut.

Of course Kuroo noticed that Yaku is short, but he does a good job of avoiding situations that emphasize it. He doesn't strain for objects on the top shelf on his tip toes, he gets a ladder or stool. He doesn't try to carry things that are too heavy for him, he doesn't wear oversized clothes.

But he can't pretend to be any bigger than he is right now.

"Here," Kuroo says, passing off the broom to Yaku, and starts gathering the fallen balls on the floor.

Yaku opens his mouth to argue, annoyed, face heating slightly – the span of Kuroo's arms can easily carry eight, nine, ten volleyballs if he balances it with his chin, it's clearly embarrassing for Yaku to admit – but he looks over at the senpai near the door, still twirling key ring, looking down at his watch. 

Yaku groans, lifting the handle of the broom and rushing down the court.

~

 _Kindchenschema_ is a German word. It describes how the mesolimbic pathway blasts open upon seeing stimulus cute, and promptly opens the dopamine floodgates, the Scooby snack of the brain.

 _Dimorphous_ is a Greek word, and _dimorphous expression_ describes a someone experiencing an emotional reaction _so strong_ that it causes an overload, the brain doesn't know how to cope, so it tries to bring itself down by contrasting the reaction with something else. Crying from happiness, screaming in what sounds like horror at a concert, or laughing after receiving a bad grade.

 _Aggression_ is an English word. It's behavior that's intended to cause harm.

 _Kindchenschema dimorphous aggression_ is a term Kuroo coined, just now, and it describes his subject seeing stimulus so cute it pisses the subject off. 

And it doesn't make it any less irrational or idiotic, but there it is. 

And it's not like other cute things – Kuroo can freely admit enjoying a good cute thing or two, why not? Some of his friends from childhood make a point of scoffing at their old toys and interests, but Kuroo never felt the need for that kind of performance. He kept some of his old Pokemon figures, simply because he finds them cute, and he smiles at kids on the street who are cute, who wear cute little clips of bunnies and berries in their hair, and Kenma is very cute, big eyes hiding, uncertain, behind a sheet of dark hair, oversized sleeves covering his palms, but – these cute things are all gentle. Kenma is quiet, and needs to be encouraged to into action, preferring his careful, solitary activities. 

Yaku is not gentle. 

Yaku doesn't need Kuroo's encouragement, Yaku is already there, Yaku is already three steps ahead of Kuroo, and if Kuroo doesn't keep up, he's going to be left behind – and it's not that he even wants to overtake Yaku – he doesn't, really, he can even admit, as the year goes by, that he's proud to be on the same team as him, but he also. Really… _really_ wants to fight him.

Giving it a name makes it easier to manage, and with it, there comes a kind of clarity, and Kuroo is able to reflect back on the year.

Kuroo knows he never would've devoted this much time to receives if Yaku hadn't been on his team, if he hadn't been so – annoyingly _cute_. It was motivation that Kuroo thrived on, made going to the gym each day a new and thrilling thing, and it was Yaku, ultimately, that made his abstract dream of what Nekoma could be, what he could do on a team, become a reality for the first time. 

He feels a strange mix of grateful and fond, but, as always, just a little bit annoyed. That fucking guy…

~

The third years are confident in a trip to nationals this year, but they only make it the top four of interhigh in their last tournament. 

The loss is a particularly hard one. The third years sacrificed countless hours they could've been studying for exams, hanging out with friends, with family, dating or reading or literally anything else, and all they have to show for it is just two games, just a few measly hours on the court before they were directed back to their bus for the ride home. 

They're cold and distant on the bus, the second years frustrated and hostile just behind them. An offhand comment about they probably would've won it, _if our libero had actually made that last receive_ , makes Yaku flinch, shoulders hitch up, turning to face the window and refusing to look away. 

Kuroo didn't cry when he lost the tournament in junior high. He hasn't cried about any of his losses, but he wishes he could've. He's felt that rotting thing inside him that most people can release as tears, he thinks, and when he gets up on the still moving bus, crossing the aisle to take the open seat beside Yaku, he's not surprised to see Yaku's eyes watering. He doesn't mention it. 

Physically, his bulk won't do anything to stop any further comments from drifting their way, but it feels like doing something, and that's enough.

~

A terrifying thing happens, at the end of his first year at Nekoma, where he has just finished saying goodbye to the third years, and goodbye to his teachers, and finally goodbye to Kai, but not quite goodbye to Yaku. 

Yaku's grin sharp and teasing and his eyebrows high on his forehead. They're on the way to a proper truce, but not entirely there, so Yaku shoves Kuroo harshly, voice very mean as he says, "You better not slack off this summer. I'm expecting you to make regular next year."

Kuroo has never wanted to kiss anyone. Not even his mother, it was something he did because she wanted it.

But just then, Kuroo wants to kiss Yaku.

It is terrifying, and bizarre, and Yaku is smiling at him.

So Kuroo shoves him so hard he falls on his ass. 

_Kindchenschema dimorphous engouement aggression_

~

The fire in Kuroo rages out of control that summer. 

He's relentless with himself, and has to focus to bring it down when Kenma joins him – which he's more insistent about than he's ever been before. Even he can tell how annoying he's becoming, constantly haunting underneath Kenma's window, throwing rocks, using the emergency key the creep inside, pulling Kenma from his bed, keeping him longer and longer at tracks, in the local gym. 

Kenma is being suspiciously agreeable about this, and Kuroo is too nervous to question it, afraid it might break the spell, but finally curiosity gets the better of him.

"Someone hacked my online account," Kenma explains, expression dark and withered at the memory. "I lost all my data."

Kuroo laughs, mostly out of surprise, until Kenma's expression softens to something a little more serious. 

"Plus," he shrugs one shoulder. "It makes you. Loud."

"Oh," Kuroo says, laughter quieting immediately. "That's – good?"

Kenma shrugs again, leaning forward enough to hides his face behind his hair, and Kuroo knows that's probably the best answer he's going to get. 

~

Second year arrives. 

Kuroo has been counting down the days to the end of summer, the chance to show Kenma off. The regular setter was a third year, and they had a back up second year who had been bemoaning giving up his wing spiker position. This will solve the problem.

Kuroo attempts to play it cool, because while their arguments have more or less turned into jokes and banter, he doesn't want to risk Yaku being difficult about Kenma just to have the chance to hold it over Kuroo's head. 

Unfortunately, Kuroo misplaced his worry. 

The first day of practice goes well, Kuroo thinks. Kenma is quieter than usual, but of course he is. Of course all first years are on their first day. But Kenma nods when they call his name, he even looks up from his shoes and straightens his shoulders.

"Yes, Hojo."

"Hojo- _san_."

"Yes, Hojo-san."

Kenma had been doing his best to keep up during jogs, but would regularly grow overheated and exhausted around the two hundred meter mark, needing to rest. Pushing him any longer than that would result in a day or two of illness that he would have to recover from, so it was slow going.

The first day of practice they run a full meter mile, and Kuroo is impressed, deeply, when Kenma keeps pace with him, only needing to rest once, a short break the catch his breath. This is a success, and Kuroo is feeling proud on his way back from locking up the gym, when he overhears the third years in the clubhouse. 

"So what'd you think?"

"Meh. Could be worse."

"Fuku is tall."

"Yeah. And that Yamamoto kid is strong, for a first year."

"What about that snivelly little guy. Kozume?"

"Yeah! That kid – he's _weird_ , isn't he??"

"Was he the one Kuroo was talking about? His 'super talented' friend?"

"Yeah, I think so. From the way Kuroo talked about him I thought he'd be this great player, but he couldn't even get through practice without needing a break."

"I saw him, yeah. Leaning against the post when they were half done with the mile. Does he even want to be here?"

"He should've signed up for Ikebana club."

"Kuroo said he was going to be a regular."

"Kuroo needs a reality check. We're getting Nekoma to nationals this year."

"Kuroo said he was going to play setter."

Laughter. 

Kuroo goes home, still in his gym clothes, putting them in for a wash even though he's only worn them a day. 

Kenma will be able to prove himself, he knows, but Kuroo also knows he won't get anything out of it as long as the third years are in the club. It's a cruel thing to ask Kenma to endure them until it happens. 

Kuroo continues to ruminate the next day, after waiting at Kenma's gate and seeing him shuffle out his front door, sluggish and drained. 

He really did his absolute best at practice yesterday, and it's left the underneath his eyes dark and bruised, moving slower than usual on their walk to the bus. Kuroo had expected this, handing him the extra banana he brought along. Kenma is so exhausted he starts eating it immediately, without complaint. 

Kuroo sighs, chin in his hand, watching Kenma eat while barely opening his eyes, feeling guilty. This is what he's wanted, for years, playing this game at this level, with Kenma at his side, like junior high but better. He'd told himself that he understood it'd be difficult, but apparently he did not. 

At lunch, Kuroo goes to Class 2, where Kai and Yaku are, and braces himself as he slips into the spot directly beside Kai. 

Kai is nice. Kai will definitely be nice about this, and Kuroo is seeking some nice words just now. Unfortunately, brutally honest Yaku is in the seat ahead, reading a book as he eats.

"So," Kuroo asks, sort of quiet, hoping that somehow Yaku won't hear it. "What'd you think?"

"Hm?" Kai asks, expression blank. "Oh, your friend? Kenma?"

That gets Yaku turning around in his chair, and Kuroo feels it like a burn on the side of his face. 

"Lots of potential," Kai is saying, giving a big thumbs up, always the master of being perfectly, politely pleasant. But that's all. Kuroo nods, and feels frustration and disappointment in equal measures. 

"He's good," Yaku says, the deathly serious voice getting Kuroo's attention. He's staring at Kuroo with bright, intent eyes. "He's really good."

"He is," Kuroo agrees, quickly, feeling relief in his chest, soothing just enough to make it puff with pride. 

He's known it – he never doubted it, but playing for a powerhouse school isn't just a dream for Yaku, that's where he came from. There's a reason why he was the only first year regular – Yaku has won awards, and played volleyball with players who also won awards. He knows strong players, and he has every reason to give Kuroo a rough time about this, he _knows_ Yaku's disagreed with him in the past just on principle. 

"He's too quiet if he wants to be a setter, though, and he's small, and he has no endurance. Like at all," Yaku says, ticking each flaw off his fingers. Lack of endurance gets two. "But he's got – " He stops, struggling with the same thing Kuroo does at times, describing the thing that Kenma has. "Game sense. He knows – sees – he's just good."

"He is," Kuroo says again, and they grin at each other.

Eventually Kenma does prove himself to the rest of the team, winning over Kai, Fukunaga, and Yamamoto as well. But the better he gets, the more annoyed it makes their power-tripping, obnoxious third years, who are worse than ever, making the second years run laps if they attempt to help the first years during clean up, making Kenma run laps just for the hell of it, and still refusing the allow the first years into the clubroom. Second years can, but Kuroo barely uses it. Kenma is nervous and miserable about having to change in an open classroom, so Kuroo typically changes with him, then stands guard at the door until he's finished.

This year in general would likely be hell for Kenma, if it wasn't for Yaku. 

Yaku has blossomed into his role as a senpai, a stern and fair voice of reason for their first years to turn to. Unlike Kuroo, Yaku carries weight with their senpai – sour jealousy aside, Yaku is irreplaceable as not just their libero, but the only player on the team with any kind of accolades or national level experience, and they have no choice but to give in to his demands, once he decides to push it, and Yaku is obviously careful about which battles he picks. 

He sighs without complaint when told to set up the net by himself at the beginning of practice, but holds his ground later that day – 

"Kenma! Set for me," Yaku says. 

"Kozume can play as setter after he learns to receive," Hojo says.

"I need to practice my returns with a setter," Yaku says. He's not arguing, but there's no compromise in his tone whatsoever. "Does Chikao have time to do that now?"

".. He's working with Iori and Yusuke," Hojo mutters.

"Tora!" Yaku says, nodding his head to the side, pulling Kenma along behind him. "We're practicing over here!"

The last thing Kenma wants is a fuss, and whenever it starts happening, he starts sinking into himself, twitching, fidgeting, slouching, shoulders inching up. Kuroo has learned it's best not to press in moments like this, but somehow, this does not happen with Yaku. 

Yaku handles Kenma like he's giving a sick animal a bath. Sure, confident, firm. Where Kuroo will stand to the side when it comes to Kenma, poking, cajoling, and waiting, Yaku simply grabs Kenma by the scruff of the neck and carries him where he ought to be. 

If Kuroo held up a tissue for Kenma to blow his nose, he would likely deliberately blow snot onto Kuroo's palm. But he allows Yaku's attention mildly, without fighting, without complaint. When Yaku pushes him into place, he simply stands, ready, waiting, willing.

Yaku is much softer with Kenma than Kuroo's ever seen, and it makes him think that maybe Yaku has younger siblings, younger cousins that he was put in charge of, that he can turn this on so naturally, but he shakes his head when Kuroo asks. Only child. Extended family lives in a smaller prefecture up north, he only sees them every few years. Something just for Kenma, then.

"From the way you complained, I thought he'd be worse," Kenma says, after practice, looking at Kuroo with eyes narrowed in evaluation, like trying to figure out if Kuroo is dumber than he thought.

"He's different with you," Kuroo says. _And you're different with him_. He doesn't say this, though, afraid of making Kenma self conscious. 

~

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"The third years will be there," Kenma sighs.

"They'll be doing their own thing."

"They'll do whatever they want."

"Come on."

" _Why?_ " 

It's a genuine question. 

Kenma obviously understands that Kuroo would enjoy his company at Hojo's New Years party, but has also calmly, rationally reasoned that Kuroo's enjoyment alone is not enough to go through a gathering that will also be attended by people who actively torment him. 

Kuroo doesn't blame him, but it's not just Kuroo, and it's not just the third years that will be there. He's doing his best to pave the way for Kenma in the year after this, when the third years will finally be gone, and that means forming connections with the second and first years, too.

"The entire team is going."

Kenma glowers, first at Kuroo, then down at his game. 

But, a day later, sends a text, agreeing to go. 

Obviously, the caveat being, that Kuroo would be there as well. 

The party is today, it started a half hour ago, and Kuroo is scrambling up the steps of the train station, jogging down the street to Hojo's home. _Thirty-five, thirty-six_ – Kuroo makes it to the gate, panting. Thirty-seven minutes late. Thirty-seven minutes Kenma's spent at this party, alone. 

He forces himself to stay calm when Hojo's mother answers the door, taking her time and enjoying a long conversation about Kuroo's classes, if he has a girlfriend – oh, he _must_ , he's so tall! Which position does he play again? Wing spiker? 

And Kuroo is polite as he can be, scanning the row of shoes on the step behind her. He does not spot Kenma's, but there are so many, Kuroo thinks, it's just as likely that he missed them as it is that Kenma decided to escape after ten minutes of waiting… 

Hojo's mother directs him to one of the rooms in the back, where several games of Hanetsuki are being played. 

"Hey! Sorry I'm late."

Everyone cheers, happy he finally made it, and Kuroo keeps a smile on his face as he scans the room. 

No Kenma. 

Kuroo sighs internally, pulling out his phone as casually as possible. Asking when Kenma left will only bring more attention to it. 

"No Yaku?" he asks about the other missing person instead.

"He's probably in that TV room," says Yamamoto. "Two doors down."

Kuroo is evaluating just how slim the odds are that he'll ever being able to talk Kenma into a party ever again as he finds the TV room with Yaku inside, a small space taken up mostly by a kotosu. 

The room is silent, except for the television playing quietly behind him. Normally Yaku is in the thick of these parties, social and jovial, so seeing him here, alone, in this quiet, calmly peeling an orange, is strange.

"Taking a break?" Kuroo asks, taking a seat on the other side.

"They're kind of assholes, aren't they?" Yaku says, without looking up from the orange. "The third years."

"Not exactly news. What'd they do now?"

Yaku just shakes his head. 

Kuroo doesn't question it. He spends the next few minutes waiting for a text from Kenma, and watching Yaku's slender fingers, peeling the skin from the orange, nimble and quick. It's an oddly satisfying thing when he finally finishes, dropping the last of the peel onto the plate below. Yaku pulls the slices apart after that in firm, gentle yanks, the thinner skin parting wetly. 

Kuroo's got his chin in his hand now, waiting for Yaku to bring one of the glistening, bright slices of the fruit up to his lips, has been watching so long the sight will be satisfying all on its own, but instead, Yaku slips it under the table.

Kuroo's brow creases. His first thought is that Yaku is feeding a pet, but can't imagine a pet that would eat an orange... 

He lifts himself upright, craning his neck, and sees a familiar fan of dark hair, barely poking out of the blanket of the kotosu.

Kenma. 

Yaku brings down a second slice. Kuroo watches Kenma's hand, barely reaching out of the blanket, taking the orange in a small movement, pushing it into his mouth.

"You taking a break?" Yaku asks, finally taking a bite of his own while passing off a third to Kenma.

"Yeah," Kuroo says, happy in a way he can't really verbalize, just yet. "The energy's better in here."

Just – the sight of this – is good. It makes him happy. Kuroo and Yaku sit back and watch the television, and Kuroo wasn't lying. The energy in this room is better, a calming, mellow thing. 

It doesn't take long for Yaku to slump out of sight, joining Kenma in laying out on the floor, watching the show on their stomachs. At some point in the evening Kuroo looks over and sees they've actually fallen asleep, foreheads tilted toward one another like children.

Kenma's growth has always been a slow, sluggish thing, taking longer naps when his spurts hit. He's just finished one, and is almost the exact same height as Yaku. Next year he will likely be taller, but for now they're a perfectly matched set. 

Kuroo doesn't know how he feels about this. It's like some softer, more tender version of pride. Something he's often felt toward Kenma, but feeling it for Yaku, both at once, feels like it's too big for his chest, too much to handle. 

As the New Year gets closer, the room starts filling with their teammates, the noise increasing gradually enough that it doesn't wake either Yaku or Kenma – until it finally reaches midnight. 

" _Happy New Year!!!_ "

Like they were yanked by the same wire, the two of them sit up immediately at the noise, eyes blinking awake in surprise, slowly registering the room around them.

 _Kindchenschema dimorphous aggression_ , Kuroo thinks, when Yamamoto seems compelled to come over and ruffle their hair, until Yaku wakes up enough to elbow him away.


	2. Chapter Two

"It's this one, right? I recognize the purple on the case." 

"One below," Kuroo says. 

"Oh!" Kenma's mother quickly pulls her hand back from the game Kuroo's not surprised she recognized, since it's been in her home since Kenma was in junior high.

Kenma's birthday approaches, and to celebrate, Kenma's mother plans to buy him three games: the newest one he's been asking for, an older one he'll certainly like, and something educational. This is well beyond her area of expertise, though, and Kuroo has been helping her shop for these sorts of things the last ten years. 

The newest game Kenma wants is popular enough to have a display at the gaming store just down the block, with cardboard cut outs of the characters on either side of the shelves. It's almost 10,000 yen, but his mother doesn't seem to think twice about the price, paying at the register with a smile. 

Next is a secondhand shop, a twenty minute train ride away. A tiny and narrow space, with low ceilings that force Kuroo to duck awkwardly under advertisements dangling over the aisles, they head to the back, where the store keeps two large bins full of secondhand games.

"This one?" Kenma's mother asks.

Kuroo glances at the game in her hand, and sees characters holding long swords, wearing cloaks, while a large dragon-like figure looms in the background. "Promising," he says, then turns it over took on the back. "Ah. It's a MOBA."

"MOBA?"

"Multiplayer online battle arena," Kuroo says, and she's already putting it back at _multiplayer_. 

"So particular... " she sighs. Then, rather suddenly, "So have you found a girlfriend this year, Tetsurou-kun?" 

Kuroo's eyebrows fly up in surprise, but his voice stays deliberately relaxed. "Not yet."

She hums thoughtfully. "A shame… "

Kuroo keeps his hands moving over the hard plastic of the video game cases, waiting cautiously. 

Kenma's mother has approached this topic in the past, subtly, and it looks like she's gearing up for another attempt today.

Her son's love life. 

Kenma isn't close to many people, and there's no one as close to him as Kuroo. Surely, then, Kuroo must have news about who Kenma likes – or even _what_ Kenma likes. In one of her more candid moments, she mentioned that Kenma was so offbeat to begin with, it'd be it's own surprise if he actually brought home anyone _traditional_. But she's never asked outright, not enough for Kuroo to be candid in return.

He wonders if she'd even believe it if Kuroo said that he had no idea, either. 

As a young child, Kuroo's plans for surviving an earthquake or bombing or zombie attack any other childhood fear had always involved finding and securing Kenma, first thing. As his fears grow more nuanced, this remains the same – where he'll go to college, where he'll work, where he'll live, if he gets sick and weak like his mother, or drunk and angry like his father, or some third completely new, unknown path. Kenma is always there, in every hypothetical, where every other element remains a dark uncertainty. He knows this sense of permanence is mutual, but he's never gotten a serious read on whether or not Kenma feels anything else.

It's a very real possibility that Kenma may never be interested in anyone romantically at all, so Kuroo has yet to account for it seriously in any of his plans, sometimes sketching a vague outline in his mind ( _Kenma's Wife[???]_ ) but only if the situation requires. Imagining anything more intrusive is unpleasant. Getting a concrete answer of the same is even moreso. Kuroo's not ready to ask a question if he's just going to choke on one of the answers. 

That hasn't stopped Kuroo's most private and shameful moments, though.

Kenma is a familiar and comforting presence in his mind, and has become intensely appealing as he's gotten older. The soft, husky edge of his voice, the way it catches when he's annoyed or surprised. The curve of his back, the color of his cheeks and ears when embarrassed, the brightness of his eyes when excited. Everything about him is a good, positive thing in Kuroo's mind, though he will usually feel a little guilty about it afterward, and especially so now, standing beside Kenma's mother.

"This one?" Kenma's mother asks. She holds a sci-fi shooter. A lone hero holds a plasma gun in the middle of poorly lit hallway, several sets of eerie, blood red eyes watching from the darkness behind them.

"Good choice," Kuroo says. "Same as it was last year, when you bought it for him then."

"Did I really??"

"Yep," Kuroo says. "Kenma liked it."

"Of course he did, I have excellent taste," she says, huffing a little as she puts it back. "So. Is there a reason a handsome young man like yourself is still single?" 

"Uh," Kuroo laughs. "Good question."

"Can't find the kind of girl you like?"

"Might be the opposite of that," Kuroo says. "Picking one always means leaving the rest behind."

"You'll have to make up your mind eventually, Tetsu-kun," she says. "Before you know it, it'll be your third year! At this rate you'll graduate without having a single high school fling." 

Kuroo puts a hand to his chest. "This soul is too old for flings."

She laughs again, then taps her lip, making a show of thinking. "Hmm. Let's see… the girl I see with Tetsu-kun... she's cute."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she says. "And maybe – bossy. The type to keep you from causing too much trouble." 

"Oi. Since when do I cause trouble?" 

"Not often," she allows. "But when you do, you get so stubborn about it! Tetsurou's girlfriend should be stubborn enough to keep him on his toes. How does that sound?"

 _Familiar_ , he wants to say, thinking of Yaku's challenging stare on the other side of the net. "You had me at cute."

"If that's all you were looking for, you'd have a girlfriend already!" she says. "Oh. How about this one?"

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. RPG set in Feudal Japan, starring – an anthropomorphic lizard with an AK-47. It's not one Kenma would ever pick for himself, but… "Yeah," he says. Can't hurt to try.

Kenma's mother smiles, pays for the games, and they make their way back down to the station. 

"You know," she says. "Kenma does seem happier this year… " And here it is. She clears her throat, gearing up for the question. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's – anyone?"

"I do not," he says. "You'd be the first person I told." 

"Don't lie to me, Tetsurou," she scoffs. "But I suppose it doesn't matter as long as he's happy. And you, too – you know I'm only teasing about a girlfriend, right?" 

Kuroo smiles at her fretting, assuring her that he knows, of course. 

~

Kuroo knows a secret about dorayaki. 

Kenma says he hates it, but truthfully, he doesn't. 

Truthfully, Kenma just hates how most people make it, including his mother, so rather than explain and have endless, repeated, _oh, you'll like this one, just try it – !_ whenever his mother makes some, or students bring it to class to share, or Kai offers to treat everyone after practice, Kenma quietly turns down all offers by saying he does not care for it at all. 

Kuroo knows another secret. 

This one is also about Kenma, and not even Kenma knows it: he's the same way with people. 

He claims he'd rather not bother at all, that he's happiest left alone, but truthfully, Kuroo can tell he _would_ bother, for the right sort of person, they're just so rare it's easier to write it the entire thing off wholesale. Not to say that Kenma isn't introverted, or anti-social, or just plain shy, Kuroo's sure that's all at play, but the biggest thing, as far as Kuroo's concerned, is Kenma's extremely discriminating palate when it comes to friends. 

Kenma's never kept up with any of his classmates from junior high, usually only tolerated his teammates in the volleyball club, and there's no reason for high school to be any different. Kuroo even starts to doubt the fact that Kenma will stick it out through the end of the year when he sees the personality clash between him and Yamamoto. 

But the year goes on and Kuroo watches, with some surprise, as Kenma slowly starts to open up to Fukunaga, makes an effort to come to an understanding with Yamamoto, and – most intriguingly – holding his own with Kai's polite, waffling small talk. 

Maybe it's the common enemy of the third years that's created a united front, but after the New Years party, Kenma's sighs and complaints about the long trips to the convenience store with the rest of the team after practice have slowly quieted, though Kuroo still wouldn't dare to say that Kenma's _enjoying_ any of it. 

"Fukunaga's aunt got an uncut copy of _Empty City_ ," Kenma tells Kuroo during lunch one day. "He's going to watch it this weekend if you want to come."

Kuroo stops, frozen, food half in his mouth. 

"… What?" Kenma asks, eyes narrow in a precursor of annoyance, confused by Kuroo's reaction. 

" _You_ actually – you're _inviting_ me to go somewhere?" Kuroo asks. "Somewhere that's not your room? With other people? Willingly?"

Kenma eyes settle into a proper glare. 

"I mean, yeah, sounds like fun," Kuroo hurries to say, not wanting to discourage this kind of behavior. "Hey. Yakkun. You coming?"

"Uh," Yaku, in the seat ahead, slowly pulls his gaze away from his book. It's in a way that seems like he wasn't paying attention, but Kuroo realizes is reluctance when Yaku knows exactly what they were talking about – " _Empty City_ is that zombie movie right?"

"Yeah," Kuroo says, while Kenma nods once in emphatic agreement. He's excited about this.

"Nah," Yaku says.

"Fukunaga could probably wait til next week if you're busy," Kuroo says.

"No," Yaku says, tone measured. "I'm not into movies like that."

"This one's good," Kenma explains, and his excitement has caused him to miss what would usually be fairly obvious. "They had decomposition experts consult on the zombie designs – "

"Kenma," Yaku says sharply. "I don't like that type of movie."

Now, Kenma clocks in on Yaku's slightly defensive scowl, the hunch of his shoulders. "You're afraid?" he says, and from his tone he might as well have said, _You're an idiot?_ When Yaku can do nothing but glare defensively in response, Kenma shakes his head. "It's not real."

"I _know_ that," Yaku says. "I still don't like them."

"I just meant – " Kenma is clearly struggling to word this without making it sound like an insult. "There's no – real reason for you to be scared."

"Right," Yaku says, his voice going mean in a way it rarely does even with Kuroo. He's never used anything close to this with Kenma before. "How about Kuroo says that to you next time you want taiyaki, but you're too scared to walk into a convenience store by yourself."

Kenma blinks in surprise.

" _Hey_ ," Kuroo says, but Yaku is already getting up to leave. 

Kuroo looks over, dreading what he'll find on Kenma's face. His usual reaction to that kind of harsh tone is pulling inward, hiding behind his hair, growing quiet. Kuroo's seen it before, when telling off Kenma's asshole classmates, and he can't stand the idea of Yaku bringing that out in him - but Kenma does not look anything like that. 

In fact, his eyes are wide, fascinated, tracking Yaku's movement out the door. 

It is, disconcertingly, the very focused way he observes monsters and bosses in games. 

"Uh," Kuroo says. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Kenma says, sounding distracted. "He was right. That was thoughtless of me."

"Am I wrong, or do you look like you're plotting to take him out?"

"It's not that I want to," Kenma says, then finally locks eyes with Kuroo again. "It's just interesting to know I can."

"… Excuse me?"

"I mean." Kenma frowns. "It's. There are support characters you can't play. In games. They just give you tasks or sell you weapons. They're helpful, but they're not really – "

"Interesting?"

"Or something," Kenma says. "They don't have – weaknesses or stats. They just move the game forward."

"So," Kuroo says, spinning his pen between his fingers. "Yaku loses his temper, and you upgrade him from an NPC to a member of your party?"

"Or something," Kenma mutters again, apparently embarrassed by his own analogy after hearing it out loud. 

"So what am I?" Kuroo asks. "A helpful NPC?"

"MC."

"The main character," Kuroo says, raising an eyebrow. "Then what are you?"

"The player."

" _Ah_."

Still, however intriguing Kenma finds the outburst, Kuroo is annoyed. It was below the belt to say, and Yaku of all people should know better. 

He can tell that Kenma has no interest in dragging it out, though, and is going to do the same, but after practice Yaku is the first of the team to make it to the convenience store. He's walking back out the doors by the time the rest of them arrive, holding an extra taiyaki that he hands to Kenma, along with a quiet apology. 

Kenma looks down at the treat in his hands, then back up at Yaku. 

"It's alright," Kenma says, and he watches Yaku, very carefully. 

~

"I heard Coach Nekomata is going to come out of retirement!!" 

Yamamoto's younger sister, Akane, announces this one day when she stops by with treats for the team, snack cakes from a bakery down the street, each one wrapped in cute little bows, all Nekoma red.

"I heard that, too," Yaku says, voice flat. "Last year."

"Oh," she says, deflating slightly. "You think it won't happen?"

"Somehow I'm doubting we'll get that lucky," Kuroo says, picking through the cakes. The rumor started after the man was supposedly spotted on Nekoma campus last year. It was thought to be confirmed when the current, rather uninspired, coach resigned and moved to another prefecture, but by the end of the year nothing had seriously come of it, and Nekoma's coaching chair currently sits empty. 

"Well, I'm betting he will eventually!" Akane says. 

"Because _you_ know better than Kuroo-san?" Yamamoto scoffs, irritated as he always is when his sister shows up to their practices, and they scuffle with one another for a bit. 

It can be hard to see at first, but Yamamoto and Akane are quite fond of each other. It can be so hard to see, in fact, Kuroo had assumed that Akane's semi-regular appearances and treats for Nekoma's team were actually an attempt to woo one of their players. 

When Kuroo spotted her watching him practice from the sidelines with wide, admiring eyes, hands clasped together over her heart, he had assumed it was himself. 

"She only likes girls," Yamamoto had said when Kuroo asked about it, with the standard disgust one sibling has for another's romantic inclinations. "She's _seeing_ a girl in her class right now. She calls it dating but how can grade schoolers date? They can't."

"Are – you sure?" Kuroo asked, so upended by this that he only sways when Yaku elbows him hard in the side. 

"What, can't believe that duck ass on your head failed to make Akane-chan swoon into your arms?" Yaku asks. 

"That's – no! Shut up!" Kuroo barks, feeling his face heat, unable to come up with anything better than that while the rest of the team cracks up. 

Though Kuroo was the only one foolish enough to say it out loud, he _knows_ he wasn't the only one thinking it – he saw Yaku blushing and rubbing at the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly at Akane's open praise, and Kai's back had straightened, chest puffing slightly when Akane had audibly gasped at his super straight during a scrimmage. 

Regardless, this is a burden that Kuroo carries alone, and he keeps his interactions with Akane very measured because of it, nodding politely when she leaves for the day. "Thanks for your support, Akane-san."

"You got it!!" she says, flashing a peace sign. "With or without Coach Nekomata, you guys will definitely take nationals this year!" 

"That's the plan," Captain Hojo says. 

The serious edge of his voice has the team quickly setting aside the cakes, heading back onto the court. 

~

They don't qualify for nationals, and Kenma isn't even given a chance to play. 

Kuroo had hoped the third years would retire, especially after seeing how deeply their senpai regretted it the year before, but not only have they stuck around, they've grown more ambitious than ever, becoming vicious as the countdown to spring high begins. 

Practices start running later and later into the night, and the principal was forced to instate a curfew after Fukunaga misses the last train home, and is found sleeping in the clubroom the next morning. 

Months pass, and eventually Nekoma's adviser receives an invite to spend their vacation at Shinzen's gym with the rest of Fukurodani Academy Group. 

"You going somewhere?"

Kuroo looks up from rolling up his bed mat. 

His father stands in the doorway of his bedroom, eyes squinted, hair ruffled, looking confused. It's early enough in the morning that it's still dark out, and his father is his usual mess, so it takes a beat to realize he is sober – just tired from the abrupt wake up call. 

"Camp," Kuroo says, and goes back to rolling his mat. "Volleyball stuff." 

"It's your last vacation of the year," his father says.

Kuroo stares, waiting. A good while into the silence Kuroo realizes that his father is implying this is time they could, or maybe even should, be spending together. 

"I'll be back Saturday," Kuroo mutters, and finishes gathering his belongings, feeling something awful in his throat that he can't quite swallow down. He's almost five centimeters taller than his father, who does not attempt to stop him when he climbs to his feet, standing aside when Kuroo walks past him, to the door. 

When he was still in grade school, he would imagine that his father was trapped in his own body, with no memory of what happened when it was occupied by the angry, shouting monster he became. Now that Kuroo's older, he sees that it's depressingly close to the truth. His father wakes, once every few months, to stare around in depressed, remorseful confusion at what his life has become, only to slip back down again at his earliest convenience. 

"Tetsurou – "

Still on the porch of his home, Kuroo looks over his shoulder in surprise. It's his father, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

"Saturday, right?" he says. "I could – uh. Meet you at the station. Get something to eat. Something. Should spend at least a day together, right?"

Kuroo blinks, struggling to form a response. Then he nods. "Yeah – alright," he says. "Saturday. Sounds good." 

"What are you so happy about?" Kenma is barely awake, shuffling slowly down the steps of home, taking Kuroo's high spirits personally.

"Just excited," Kuroo says. "Think it's gonna be a great week."

Kenma mutters something about _volleyball idiot_ as they walk to the station together. He sleeps the whole train to Nekoma, waking just enough to shuffle miserably from the station to the bus, where he falls asleep again, slumped heavily on Kuroo's shoulder. 

~

" _Oi! Nekoma's Bedhead!!_ " 

"Who's that?" Yamamoto demands, surging forward only to have Kuroo grab the back of his shirt, holding him back. 

It's Bokuto. Standing on the other end of the gym, he's pointing at Kuroo with one hand, holding a volleyball with the other. 

Kuroo grins.

Camps were only held for a few weeks at a time last year, and Bokuto had seemed capricious enough to forget Kuroo entirely the moment he stepped out of sight, but apparently not. He's got an answering smile on his face that could be read as vaguely threatening if a person didn't know better, which is probably why Yamamoto's attempting to puff up his stick-thin body to an intimidating size. 

"Stand down, Tora," Yaku says, blandly. "It's just Kuroo's boyfriend."

"Ha, ha," Kuroo shoves Yamamato toward Yaku as he jogs over to greet him. 

Bokuto is tall. Not as tall as Kuroo but still a good, impressive height and when they met last year that was basically all he had, gangly and awkward, hands and feet gigantic on his frame in a way that reminded Kuroo of a mastiff puppy's oversized paws: a warning that it's only just getting started.

When they shake hands it becomes apparent that Bokuto's had the growth spurt his oversized feet and knobby knees foretold. He's filled out with thick, round muscles in his arms and chest, and Kuroo is instantly itching with competitive energy. 

He's grown, too, built new strength and muscle into his body, and wants to see how it measures up.

"Yakkun!!!" Bokuto shouts past Kuroo while the rest of Nekoma drops off their bags and starts their warm up stretches. "You're not scooping my spikes this time!"

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it!" Yaku says. Yaku was not as charmed by Bokuto last year, and it will probably take Kenma a while to warm up to him as well – grimacing at Bokuto's loud, bellowing shouts as Yaku leads him along with a hand on his back. 

"We got a new setter," Bokuto says to Kuroo, so excited his eyes are flashing. "He's the best."

"So did we," Kuroo says, grinning back. "And so is he."

But Hojo is the one who picks the roster and, as Kuroo has learned several times over by now when it comes to his ambitions for volleyball, he'll have to be patient. 

Chikao is a third year who practices hard, and he's adequate, but nothing amazing, and this is who their captain has chosen as Nekoma's active setter. He's nowhere near the setter they had last year, nowhere near Kenma, and definitely nothing like Bokuto's new first year – dark haired and heavy eyed, Akaashi is a beat of rational calm in the manic, impulsive pace Bokuto sets with his team, giving their already troubling power actual cunning, lethal direction. 

Scrimmages start, it becomes clear that Nekoma is falling short of national quality, struggling to adjust to this change in Fukurodani, or keep pace with Shinzen and Ubugawa. 

It makes for a long, frustrating morning. Nekoma's specialty has never been offense, but without a setter adequately coordinating their attacks, they've become unbelievably lopsided, unable to put up the points to shut down a set, giving their opponents all the time they need to peel their defense away, point by agonizing point. 

After this relentless march of losses, Kuroo is unsurprised when the third years start talking about rotating in the non-regulars and first years during lunch, instead of the last day, as originally planned.

Yamamoto, practically vibrating with impatience once he overhears the conversation, is first. 

He's no Bokuto, but he's got his own brand of explosive energy at the net, and he's ravenous. It bolsters their offense, starts putting numbers on the scoreboard, but still not enough to shut down sets. 

"What about Kenma?" Kuroo asks, exhausted and irritated after a low toss has Yamamoto's otherwise lethal spike slamming directly into Shinzen's block.

"I don't think Kozume's even warmed up… " says one third year, avoiding eye contact.

"Chikao-kun needs as much time on the court as he can get," says Captain Hojo, firmly. "Kozume can play when Chikao takes a break."

"Right," Kuroo says, darkly, and bites down on asking just how many losses Hojo thinks that's going to take. 

~

The afternoon follows the same miserable pattern as the morning, and Kuroo's just finished a refreshing sprint up the grassy hill, gasping for breath on the steps to the gym, when Bokuto squats down next to him, irritatingly refreshed, eating a banana. 

"Hey," he says. "Is that War Dog?"

"What?" 

"The game your manager's playing," Bokuto says. Kuroo follows Bokuto's gaze to see Kenma sitting against the wall, nearly hidden by the piles of gear, fingers moving rapidly on his PSP. "Do you think he'd let me play? Think he has Wipeout Pure??"

"No, no, and no." Kenma is not likely to lend out his PSP on the best day, let alone when it's his only refuge from the endless, repetitive scrimmages he's not allowed to play in. 

Kuroo pauses there, though, the correction stuck on his tongue.

Kuroo can see the anxiety in the set of Kenma's shoulders, the way he's pulled his legs tight against his chest. This is probably the most abject display of rejection from the third years so far: dragging him along to camp and then forbidding him from stepping on the court. There's no place for Kenma here, and he is obviously hotly, uncomfortably aware of it. He clearly wants to fade into the wall, and who is Kuroo to deny him that? Correcting Bokuto now would only draw more attention, get Bokuto asking questions – 

"Kenma's not a manager," Yaku says, collapsing beside him, grabbing his water bottle. "He's Nekoma's new setter."

"Eh?" Bokuto takes a longer, more appreciative look, the kind only a wing spiker can give a setter. Kenma is pretending he doesn't notice, but Kuroo can see he's paused the game, thumbs sitting still on the keys. "Why isn't he playing??" 

"Seniority," Yaku gasps between draws of water.

"He looks _sneaky_ ," is Bokuto's narrow-eyed verdict, around a mouth full of banana. 

"You guys play in the third gym after regular practice, right?" Yaku asks, voice deliberately light.

They did, a few times last year, when their baiting and banter kept going after practice ended, too worked up to start winding down. Kuroo's surprised Yaku noticed. 

Yaku shrugs, capping his bottle. "The third years probably won't notice if Kenma gets some practice time in there."

Kuroo and Bokuto both perk at this. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Kenma has unpaused his game, starting up again, and takes this as acceptance from him, as well. 

"Akaashi!!" Bokuto says, climbing to his feet and rushing after his new setter. "You get to do some extra practice today with me today!"

"Do I?" Akaashi asks mildly, without slowing his step. 

This plan is enough to lift Kuroo's spirits, and he brings new energy to his game through the afternoon, and as soon as the last set is finished for the day, they're hurrying to the open gym for two on two. 

"Two sets," Kenma tries bargaining as Kuroo pushes him through the door.

"Not-uh. You've been sitting around all day," Kuroo says. "You're getting a decent work out."

Kenma glowers at him, slouching heavily beside the net, while Bokuto smiles, expectant and excited on the other side, bobbing his head from side to side like an owl. 

Kenma jerks in surprise when he notices, then grimaces harder, slouching even deeper than usual. 

Chikao's sets are functional. They work, and if they had a spiker like Bokuto on Nekoma, they'd probably be more than enough. But Kuroo is not that kind of spiker, and playing with Kenma after a day of functional tosses is like comfort food. Familiar and known. The shift of Kenma's foot, the angle of his wrists, the tilt of his head, body language Kuroo has seen thousands of times, and can use to his advantage. 

After a morning of pelting, relentless defeats, hearing the ball slam into the court as it flies past Bokuto's outreached hands is enough to make his soul sing in dramatic, operatic overtures. 

" _Hee_ ," he smiles through the net, while Bokuto snarls. 

Kuroo gets six spikes past Bokuto in a row before he's gnashing his teeth and wailing that Kenma is actually _too_ sneaky.

"Your regular setter is a little easier to read," Akaashi says, in far calmer agreement. 

"Yeah, he kept doing the same three sets, over and over," Bokuto says, lifting his arm high to mimic the repeated spikes Nekoma had been sending all day. "Nothing like this twerp guy!"

It's a compliment, but Kenma still makes a face when Bokuto's finger points his way.

"Are we done?" Kenma says, and starts heading toward the door, 

"You're still only glistening, Kenma," Kuroo says, easily catching him and turning him back around. "We're playing until you get act – " as Kuroo turned, he caught a glimpse of the door – he sees a figure there, but only for a moment before it steps back into the dark.

"Until I get what?" Kenma asks, resigned and annoyed about it. 

"Actual pit stains."

Kenma makes a low, disapproving noise, one that reminds Kuroo of a cat, but he stays til the end of practice. 

~

"Why'd you run off last night?"

"What?" Yaku says.

"That was you, right? In the door of the gym," Kuroo says.

Truthfully, Kuroo feels bad about this. The practice with Kenma was Yaku's idea, but somehow, it hadn't occurred to him that Yaku assumed he'd be joining them. The numbers would've made it a little awkward to include a libero, but they could've managed something. 

Kuroo's intending to say something like that, to make it up to him, until Yaku shrugs, like it hardly matters to him at all. "It was two on two." He's using that same airy tone he did before, when he brought up his extra practices with Bokuto. "You didn't need a third."

"Sounds like sour grapes."

Yaku's posture snaps upright in annoyance. Kuroo bites down a grin.

"You seriously think I care about your shitty extra practices with your new best friend?" Yaku says."You know you're about a hundred times more obnoxious when you're around Bokuto than you are already – I don't know how you got Kenma to put up with it as long as you did, but you better get it out of your system now, because like hell you'll get away with it when we get back to Nekoma!"

Kuroo chews his breakfast, watching him go. "You know," he says. "I didn't think you were actually jealous until just now."

The anger visibly rises in Yaku's face, like a tea kettle shaking before the pressure is released in a long, piercing whistle. But all Yaku does is stand up very quickly and leave the table. 

"You can play with us today, if you want!" Kuroo calls after him, grinning. 

Yaku yells back something rude enough to get the disapproving stare of Shinzen's assistant coach, then ducks his head and hurries out of the cafeteria.

It's funny at the time, but Kuroo regrets it before he's even finished breakfast. 

Kuroo's learned to use some discretion in the past year when it comes to antagonizing people, but there's something about Yaku that makes him want to take off the kid gloves, aim at any sign of weakness with both barrels, and he's sure there's no way, ever, Yaku will _ever_ join him for extra practice with Bokuto now. He'll likely go to his grave glaring Kuroo dead in the eye, declaring that _he'd rather choke._

It would've been ideal, though, Kuroo thinks as he eats. Playing with Yaku and Kenma against Bokuto. 

Then he remembers this is a reality only one year away, and finishes his meal in a rush, impatient to begin practice.

"Don't choke," Kenma says, sitting down across from him, in Yaku's vacated seat.

"Oiii," Kuroo says, glaring at the meager selection on Kenma's tray, taking a bowl of rice from his own and putting it in front of Kenma. 

Kenma looks at it, raises an eyebrow, and starts eating around it, until Kuroo threatens to spoon feed him. 

~

More sets, more losses. 

After being thoroughly spooked by Bokuto for several hours the first day, Kuroo is never able to talk Kenma into joining them in the third gym again. 

Kuroo thrives on these practices, though, Bokuto's temperament and skill eggs him on like almost nothing else, and occupy most of his attention. Distracted as he is, Kenma and Yaku keeping one another company more and more throughout the week, until he wakes up one morning, earlier than he usually does, to hear quiet murmuring beside him – 

"I don't know how you stand it. Doesn't it get sticky?"

"Sort of. I don't really notice it."

"How could you not??" Yaku asks, voice barely above a whisper. "That'd drive me nuts."

"Have you grown out your hair?"

"Nah. It curls if it gets any longer than this."

Kuroo lifts his head. Yaku and Kenma are the only other people awake in this early morning, lying close enough that their blankets are rumpled together in the space between. Facing one another on the pillows, they talk quietly. 

"I can't picture that."

"Don't try," Yaku says. "It's not great."

Over Yaku's shoulder, Kuroo can see half of Kenma's face pressed into the pillow, a smile slowly spreading, eyes narrowed in amusement. 

"You're imagining it, aren't you??" Yaku hisses, but it's false anger, a game.

"It's not bad," Kenma says. 

"Then you're picturing it wrong," Yaku says. "But seriously, you could just tie the back up off your neck. Keep the bangs." 

Kenma's expression wrinkles in disgust. Yaku laughs this time. 

"It'd look cool," Yaku insists. "You'd look like an anime character. Like, uh – Edward Elric."

Kenma's expression wrinkles deeper and Yaku ducks his head forward, laughing harder. "Seriously," he says, and Kuroo can hear the smile in his voice. 

Kuroo blinks, openly stunned as Yaku reaches forward, and runs his fingers through Kenma's hair. Kenma's expression smooths out, similarly surprised, placidly allowing this touch as Yaku carefully gathers it together. 

"See?" Yaku says, a few beats later, holding the portion of Kenma's hair in a loose ponytail. "It's long enough."

"Yeah," Kenma says, quietly. 

Yaku lets go, and Kenma's hair spills, in soft dark sheets, against the pillow. 

They talk a bit longer, similarly unimportant, idle topics, until they start drifting back to sleep. 

After a long pause of quiet, Kuroo lifts his head again. 

Kenma is awake, laying there, eyes traveling across Yaku's sleeping face. And then he smiles.

~

The brain has a stem. Exactly as it sounds, this is the root from which the brain itself budded. 

It was a slow process, though, and for a long while, there was very little more than that stem, a modest, simple operation – action, reaction. Consuming, moving, reproducing. Reflexive and instinctive. The brain bloomed from this, re-purposing as it went, growing more complex and sophisticated, able to store information, create and identify patterns, communicate, formulate solutions and conclusions, form attachments and all sorts of neat tricks, but the entrance to it all is still those basic roots.

All the information Kuroo feels, sees, and hears still as to go through that instinctive, primal stem before anything else can get a look at it.

The brain itself is where the convenient things sit – the excuses Kuroo could possibly give, the justifications, the denial, even. If he could only skip right to that, there wouldn't be a problem at all, but unfortunately the sight in front of him triggers some sort of reaction in simple Kuroo that complex Kuroo is not entirely sure about. 

Some sort of hot and eager reaction from the sight, of Kenma smiling at Yaku like that. Talking softly, fondly. _Like before_ , he thinks, remembering the party at New Years. _But better._

But that makes no sense. 

"How would you handle it," Kuroo says, nearly sprawled out on the cool floor of the gym, skin hot and wet from practice. He's too exhausted to censor or organize his thoughts, letting them stream out of his mouth as he thinks them, but thankfully he doubts it will make much difference to his current company. "If you weren't sure if you liked someone, but you thought that someone else you do like, liked them?"

"Hrmm," Bokuto hums thoughtfully. "That happened to me once."

Kuroo blinks, sitting up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Bokuto shrugs. 

"What'd you do?"

"Just focused on volleyball."

Kuroo laughs lightly, dropping his head back down. "And how did that work out?"

"Eh? What do you mean, I'm the ace, aren't I??"

"Fair enough," Kuroo says. 

Eventually practice with Bokuto ends, dinner ends, laying awake staring at the ceiling ends, and there are no more distractions. 

Kuroo is asleep, helpless, when his brain starts doing its best to process the information – running amok through Kuroo's desires and fears and hormones. 

This is nothing new, Kuroo has had several disjointed, intense moments of arousal in his dreams that have left him hard: the girls in his gym class jogging, sauce dripping down Kenma's thin wrist, his pink tongue licking down after it. A warm, solid shape under him, shifting and shivering, that he knows instinctively is Yaku, an embellished moment from first year, wrestling over a package of butter cookies they both felt they had claim to. 

Tonight, he dreams of both Yaku and Kenma. 

They sit in Nekoma's gym, making out. It's empty except the two of them, even Kuroo isn't on the scene in any permanent way. The touches between them are gentle and calm the way they only fully manage around each other, arms looped around each other's waist. The kissing is making their faces go pink, until they're grinding together in short, impatient drags of their hips, no space between their lower halves - thin thighs tangled - Kenma's husky moaning - bodies shaking - a breathless gasp - pleasure that spikes to a climax - 

Kuroo wakes up. 

He's at camp, it's still dark out, and his shorts are sticky and warm.

He lifts his lower half up from the mat as soon as he's awake enough for rational thought, grabbing a change of clothes and hurrying to the washroom with his eyes half shut, running into the wall. He washes, in and out of the stall, washing and wringing out his pajama shorts in the sink, so embarrassed by this – if any of his senpai find out – if any _kohai_ do – it takes until he's actually eating breakfast, and Yaku and Kenma enter the cafeteria one after the other, to meditate on the actual content of the dream. 

He watches them, feeling tense and frantic, but is unable to come to a conclusion.

They both notice his stare at once. 

"What?" They ask, at the same time.

Kuroo shakes his head, and stuffs his face as quickly as he can.

~

The very last day of camp, Chikao finally takes a break, and allows Kenma onto the court. 

Kuroo gets to enjoy it about twenty seconds. 

It's the building desperation after a solid week of losses, but when Ubugawa's middle blocker taps a feint over Kuroo's block, and it flies, clean and slow in an infuriating arch, Kuroo goes after it. 

He knows it's lost, he knows he doesn't have the balance, he knows he's extending too far, and he knows, when he heel meets the ground at such an awkward, jarring speed, that this is going to be a problem. 

There's a disconcerting _pop_ , and pain shoots upward, electric and instant, sending Kuroo to his ass, holding his knee.

"Kuroo?!"

" _It's fine,_ " Kuroo insists, and tries to stand, but doesn't get very far, gasping out the pain when he tries to get his leg to take his weight. 

It turns out to be a very mild sprain. The nurse who examines his knee asks what happened, hmming to themselves as Kuroo describes it, then ultimately wraps a bag of ice to it and tells Kuroo to avoid skipping the next few days, but it should be fine. 

"She said to take it easy, idiot," Yaku hisses when Kuroo attempts to limp back to the gym without waiting for Kai's assistance. 

"Actually, she said to avoid skipping," Kuroo says, but does stop when Yaku puts both hands to his chest, scowling up at him. 

"We're already out our best middle blocker the rest of the day," Yaku says. "If you think I'm going to let you cause any more trouble for our team by making it worse than it is – "

Kuroo laughs, breathless. "Since when do I cause trouble?"

Yaku narrows his eyes. "All the time."

Kuroo tips his head back and laughs again, wondering what Kozume-san would make of this if she could see it.

"Laugh it up, Chuckles," Yaku says, irritated, but still allows Kuroo brace one arm on his shoulder, the other wrapping around Kai's, as they head back to the gym, where he'll observe the rest of practice from the bench.

~

They pack up camp Saturday afternoon, as late as they can push it. The sun is starting to set, and Kuroo feels like he's aged about five years in the last week as they climb onto the bus.

Remembering the agreement with his father immediately makes him feel about twelve years younger than that. 

It's raining at the station when they arrive, and the awning is not long enough to cover the entire group as they mill around. A decision to go get some ramen at a local shop is made.

"You sure you don't want to come?"

"Yeah," Kuroo says, and takes a seat to avoid straining his tender knee. He keeps his voice as casual as possible, "I'm meeting up with my father." 

Everyone accepts this apparently mundane answer but Kenma, who looks over in confused alarm.

Kuroo just shrugs. He's as surprised about it as Kenma, frankly. Kenma dithers for a moment, but Kuroo must look confident enough that he decides not to fuss, slowly following after Fukunaga.

Truthfully, Kuroo does not expect his father to remember straight away. 

His father is terrible about keeping up with his phone, so even though Kuroo texts that he's there, at the station, he's not expecting an immediate response. 

But eventually – as time passes and his son does not show up, eventually, Kuroo figures he'll remember. Something will remind him. Kuroo is prepared to wait. 

He watches the rain fall, and as the crowds wax and wane with the trains coming and going, Kuroo grows various degrees of wet and dry, his shoulder or leg forced out into the rain until the group boards the train again. 

Kuroo waits, playing idly on his phone, until his phone dies, and then he waits while idly people watching. 

He waits until it's dark, and he's the only one at the station, body jerking himself awake any time he starts to nod off.

The fact is that Kuroo accepted he would be forgotten by his father years ago.

Going home is accepting the fact that once forgotten, he will not be remembered. 

The cold, and the bugs, and the irritating itch of tacky wet clothes drying against his skin is finally enough to get him to stand from the bench, stretch his shaky knee, and walk home.

~

It's Monday. Kuroo knows he's sick, and by Tuesday, he's barely staying awake through class.

On Wednesday Kenma takes one look at him standing at the gate and tells him to go home, pointing that direction, as though Kuroo was a stray cat on his doorstep. Kuroo waves him off.

"You're sick," Kenma says.

"No, I'm not."

"You'll get the whole team sick," Kenma says, putting up his hand, blocking him from walking toward the station. 

"It's not that bad," Kuroo says, but it kind of is. His lymph nodes have swollen to tender, painful lumps on his throat and his skin his unpleasantly hot to the touch. He still manages to overpower Kenma and start toward the station, though. He has at least one more day before he's fully incapacitated – 

"I'll – tell my mother," Kenma says.

Kuroo looks over his shoulder. Kenma looks frazzled that he said it, gripping his gate, but holds his chin stubborn and high. 

It's a good threat. Kenma's mother is fussy and utterly sincere in her concern, making it incredibly difficult to turn down her help. Getting her involved would turn this into a month long event of calls, surprise check ups, and meals, when Kuroo will likely be recovered in a few days at worst. 

Kuroo feels genuine irritation, scowling. 

But Kenma just puffs up bigger, standing by his threat. 

"Fine." 

Kuroo glares at Kenma as he passes by him, heading back toward his house. To his surprise, Kenma turns, and follows. 

"You're going to be late."

"I know," Kenma says, as Kuroo unlocks the door.

Kenma gives Kuroo a push toward his bedroom, piling their bags together by the door. Kuroo grumbles to himself as he complies, yanking off his tie as he walks to his room, then collapses back into bed in nothing but his school uniform pants. 

He really is sick though, and even annoyed he ends up dozing fairly quickly, waking with a jolt when Kenma enters his room.

Kenma has been in his room countless times, but Kuroo finds himself feeling a little embarrassed about the piles of plates on the floor, his sweaty pillow from his delirious, fevered sleep, the rumpled sheets and blankets, the mound of laundry on his desk. Kenma's room is always clean, faithfully up-kept by his mother, and he's complained in the past about how cultured Kuroo's room is. Kuroo had always laughed in return.

At the moment, he'd like Kenma to find his room impressive. He's not sure what that would gain him. Obviously it's not going to happen, though, so he decides to feel lucky that Kenma doesn't comment, staring awkwardly at a pile of notes on Kuroo's desk as he hands over a bowl.

Kenma can't cook. 

Kuroo narrows his blurry eyes at the sight, unable to guess what he's decided to put together, laughing lightly when he actually gets a look. Scrambled eggs.

"I already had breakfast, Kenma-kun."

Kenma's face lights up in embarrassment. He turns to leave, Kuroo reaches out before he can, tugging him back. 

"No rice porridge? No ginger?"

"I did what I could," Kenma grumbles, letting himself fall into bed, against Kuroo's chest. Kuroo is sick enough that the taunting will have to end there, feeling the smile press into his cheeks. 

They lay there awhile, long enough for the cold metal buttons on the sleeve of Kenma's uniform have warmed against his arm.

"Sorry about the sweaty sheets," he says.

"… It's not that bad."

It must be terrible.

Kenma's hair is freshly washed, he smells clean and it's deeply pleasing Kuroo's delirious mind. He's grown since the last time they laid like this, as well, no longer a bundle of sticks against Kuroo's chest. He's got more to him, muscles that Kuroo's never felt before, shifting when he moves in a way that's going to make for some pretty interesting dreams. 

He feels his mouth open to say something ridiculous along those lines – _you smell good_ , _I like you_ , _lets get married_ – what comes out instead is, "What do you think of Yaku?"

There's a beat of silence. "He's dependable," Kenma says. "Smart. Strong."

This is a strange list – Yaku was being none of those things when he got Kenma to smile, and none of those things upgraded him from an NPC – but then realizes Kenma is describing Yaku as a volleyball player. Their defensive guardian.

"Yeah," he says. It's quiet again for a moment. Very, very lightly – he might have done this without thinking on another day, but Kuroo's hotly aware of the liberty he's taking, now, as he watches the strands of Kenma's dark hair slip through his fingers, reminded of when Yaku did the same. 

"I think you like him."

Kenma jerks a bit in surprise. "I think you like him," he finally answers back.

Kuroo sighs, rolling a bit, and taking Kenma with him. "I like Kenma," he says. "I like Kenma-kun's eggs."

"Yaku's eggs would probably be better."

"But yours are made with love."

Kenma gives a heavy sigh, like this disappoints or exhausts him or something.

There are facts Kuroo knows, and they guide him along his life, in broad, general directions. Going to school will mean he graduates and finds a job that will pay well. Practicing longer will mean he plays better and win more volleyball matches. And though Kenma might not always say it, the affection between them is a two-way street – spending time with Kenma will make him happy.

But sometimes facts are actually assumptions. Kuroo blinks at the noise Kenma made, his trust in Kenma's affections for him jostled, just slightly. 

"They are," Kenma grumbles out a second later, like he could sense the weight of Kuroo's silence. "It's just." He sighs again. "Things are going to get. Complicated."

He's not sure what Kenma's seeing, off in the distance. He can make guesses, but he'd rather just stay in the here and now, with Kenma, and Kenma's eggs, cooling on his desk. 

He falls asleep holding Kenma, then wakes up in the late afternoon alone. He's sicker than ever, and his first thought is deep, grumbling annoyance, that Kenma exposed himself to Kuroo's germs in the first place.


	3. Chapter Three

**Yamamoto T.** :  
broooooo  
when u coming back????  
GET BETTER!!!!

This is weird.

Yamamoto's not a fretter, really, and Kuroo's never seen him worry over a sick teammate. But then, this isn't exactly worrying. It's more like.. what. Impatience?

But Kuroo gets this text during his second day out, which is the peak of his sickness, and he does not have the wherewithal to be suspicious. He stares at it, then lets the phone flop from his hand to the mattress as he rolls over, sinking back into fevered sleep. He doesn't even attempt to make it to school Friday, and then it's the weekend. 

"No improvement?" 

Kuroo wakes to the feel of Kenma's cool, smooth hand on his forehead, a critical, evaluating frown on his face, clearly already aware that the answer is no.

"Sorry," Kuroo says. "Doing my best."

Kenma huffs, and a paper bag drops on Kuroo's chest, snacks from the volleyball club's usual after practice stop at the convenience store. Kenma, too, seems impatient with Kuroo's slow return to school, which is a little annoying, considering he's the one who forced him into bed to begin with. Perhaps he's just tired of playing nurse, though that seems unlikely as his care usually amounts to sitting at Kuroo's desk, playing his PSP, and glancing up everyone now and then, providing quiet, familiar company while Kuroo eats, then dozes fitfully.

By Sunday, Kuroo emerges from his sweat soaked sheets as a quasi-human once again, enough to shower, at least, change his sheets, eat a good meal, and finally return Yamamoto's text – 

**Me** :  
back tomorrow  
probably

 **Yamamoto T.** :  
FUCKING FINALLY  
took you long enough

Not delirious with cold, Kuroo is clear headed enough to be properly confused by Yamamoto's reaction, but does the gracious thing and ignores it. 

Around the Kuroo home, he finds little evidence that his father has been there recently, let alone that he noticed Kuroo's illness, but this time of year is his busy season. Long, monotonous hours at his desk, sometimes spending two or three nights in a row on the couch in his office. Assuming this is the case, Kuroo goes to bed determined and ready to return to normal life in the morning. 

He is not ready for the 2 am phone call. 

It's the bar owner, from just down the street. They ask, with carefully, cool politeness, if he knows of any volunteer that can assist Kuroo's father home, before they're forced to find help of their own.

It's embarrassing, but less embarrassing than if they'd been forced to call the police.

Kuroo dresses in the dark, pulling on sweat pants and a t-shirt, stepping into sandals. It's cold outside, and his bed was not, so he ends up hunching inward, crossing his arms for warmth as he walks down the street. 

He's not annoyed. 

As always, when it comes to disappointments from his father, he's never hurt, or embarrassed, or angry. He's distantly numb.

The bar is small enough that Kuroo can spot his father quickly, as soon as he opens the door, and of course, his father spots him just as fast. Kuroo braces himself when he sees the recognition click in his father's face.

"Tet-for-Tat-chan!!" 

Kuroo's hands clench.

Well. Nothing could've prepared him for that. It's a nickname from his mother. He hasn't heard it since she died.

He stands in the door of the bar, stunned, hollow, unable to come up with a coherent response. 

His father is in a surprisingly good mood for the hour and how drunk he is – normally at this point he's well on his way to argumentative anger, shouting, and insults, but he's smiling, lifting his drink toward his son in invitation. 

"Join your old man for a round!" he says, and waves his drink toward the empty spot beside him, where a stool once sat, and now lays, defeated, on its side. It's part of the now-obvious orbit of destruction around his father. Napkins are soaked and crumpled on the counter around him, a sloppy attempt to clean the overturned cups, spilling onto the floor. The bartender's jaw is working, deliberately ignoring the scene as they clean cups on the other end of the bar, but Kuroo can feel the sidelong stares from the rest of the patrons as his father goes on, obliviously. 

"Oh, come on, come on, come _on_ ," he says. "You're only young once!"

Kuroo opens his mouth, but nothing comes. 

This isn't something that happens often to Kuroo, speechlessness. He finds himself wishing, wistfully, for Yaku's presence. How he can enter these sorts of suffocating situations without batting an eye, state the obvious, correct thing, even when it's uncomfortable, and simply have people comply. 

"It's late, old man, and you're making a fool of yourself."

Like that. 

But it's not Yaku. 

Nekomata – the infamous Coach Nekomata – stands from a table in the back. He takes one last, long drag of his mug, slams it down, and pulls on his jacket.

Kuroo watches as Nekomata makes it to the counter, puts an arm around Kuroo's father's chest, and helps him up off the stool. 

"Come on," Nekomata grunts. "Get up."

It's a difficult thing, the Kuroos are not tiny people. After a moment of watching the struggle Kuroo shakes himself into action, hurrying forward, getting his father's arm over his shoulder and lifting him upward. His father's good mood continues, laughing and huffing like this is a gag between friends. 

As soon as they get him out the door, Kuroo tries to shift his father's full weight on to his shoulders. "I can – I can take him home from here, thank you – "

"Don't be ridiculous," Nekomata says, refusing to allow it. "Which way?"

Kuroo nods toward his house, and they start shuffling in that direction. 

Finally, an emotion settles in Kuroo: violent embarrassment and anger. 

Of all the people to be in the bar, to see his father like this – _Coach Nekomata_ , a legend, and a man Kuroo admired even before he knew him as that, a man Kuroo's always wanted to impress – to see what his family's actually like! It's humiliating enough to make it difficult to breathe. 

Do they both frequent that bar? How many times has Nekomata seen his father in this state? How long has he known?

"Any ambitions for nationals this year?" Nekomata suddenly asks, huffing just slightly, and Kuroo stands a little taller, taking a little more of his father's lax weight. 

"Yeah, I think – we've got a shot," Kuroo says. "If everything comes together."

"Hm," Nekomata grunts. "It's a bit late in the season for things to still be apart."

"Yeah, well," Kuroo says, feeling jittery now. He can't say he has any fond feelings for the third years, but there's an innate sense of unshakable loyalty to his team. Nekomata is still in retirement, he's an outsider, and Kuroo doesn't want to air any dirty laundry to an outsider. "We'll do what we can." 

They've arrived at Kuroo's home, the gate still open in his rush. 

"Here. We're here. I can take it – "

"No, no. Let's get him up these steps," Nekomata says, and pats Kuroo's father on the stomach. "Come on, you old man."

They get him up to those steps. On the porch Nekomata takes most of his father's weight as Kuroo opens the door. Kuroo attempts to say thanks again, but Nekomata waves off his words.

"Just get back to bed, young man," Nekomata says, walking slowly back down the steps. "You've missed enough practice as is."

He waves good night. Kuroo watches him go for a moment, then helps his father inside, to his bed. 

It's only once he's collapsed into his own, sliding into the familiar, comfortable dips of his pillow, that he wonders how Nekomata knew he missed practice at all...?

~

When he makes it to school the next morning, he has his answer.

"Kuroo," Nekomata says, standing in Nekoma's gym. He's smiling warmly, while Kuroo gapes like an idiot, frozen with shoes still in hand. 

"Sir – ?" Kuroo sputters, then bows, then there's an impatient push from behind, Yaku trying to enter the gym, and Nekomata laughs as Kuroo stumbles in. The rest of the team shouts their loud, enthusiastic greetings, obviously still unaccustomed to their coach's exciting new presence in the gym. 

Because, as Akane and the rumors foretold, Nekomata finally came out of retirement.

"None of you thought to text??" Kuroo demands, to both Yaku and Kai. 

Kai looks away somewhat guiltily, but Yaku is, as always, unashamed.

"Kenma said you'd come back before you were ready if you heard," he says, and Kuroo's glare swerves over to Kenma, who meets his gaze from the bench, but somewhat guarded, hunching over more than usual. Yaku keeps going with his hands on his hips, bold as ever. "And it's good you got sick anyway, cause you'd probably've tried to show off with your screwed up knee, and screwed it up worse. At least it's healed now."

"Yeah, whatever," Kuroo says, and he knows there's some truth in that, but he is annoyed, and feels a sudden, unexpected companionship with Yamamoto, the only one who saw fit to at least _reach out_ to Kuroo, even if he'd been pressured to keep the secret, too. 

Yamamoto hollers when he sees Kuroo in the gym, holding out a piece of paper and shoving it in his face. 

It's an ordering sheet for uniforms, and Yamamoto is downright giddy. "Coach says they'll get here in time for Spring high, too!"

Kuroo raises an eyebrow in surprise. 

The uniform thing was never a matter of money. Unlike most schools who limit them to regulars and upperclassmen, Nekoma had the funds. It was just one more way the third years could hold power over their kohai, keeping the first years in their tracksuits, and forbidden from the clubroom, and tasked with cleaning up the gym. 

Now, the third years huddle, in what looks to be very serious discussion, occasionally sneaking defensive glances around them to see if anything else has changed around the gym while their backs were turned. 

Kuroo grins. 

Leading up to Spring high, practices consist of Nekomata splitting them into various formations, observing scrimmage after scrimmage, rotating the line-ups, testing out different plays, telling Kuroo, _switch to the other side – Tora, swap out for Tatsaun_ – then going back to silent observation. 

It is obvious Nekomata is considering the regular rotation for the tournament, and this week long evaluation has everyone on edge. Tensions rise rapidly, and this time, there's no outlet. Nekomata put an immediate stop to the mistreatment of the first years, a few words of scolding when they attempted to push Kenma to jog faster than his comfortable pace, and making it clear that he expects everyone in the gym to assist in clean up, instead of lingering around the edge of the gym, watching.

Their senpai are broiling with impotent rage, and Kuroo can practically feel the heat of it radiating when he walks by their angry little huddles. It's going to burst.

"Nekomata's gotta make Kenma a regular," Yamamoto's voice is heated but quiet as he says this after practice, while the third years linger in the convenience store behind them. 

"Nekomata doesn't have to do anything," Kenma says, with mild irritation, playing his PSP. 

"He's not an idiot," Yamamoto says. "He's gotta see by now, Chaoki-san doesn't even know what he's doing out there half the time – "

"Unlike Kozume." 

Everyone freezes up, turning around to see the third years exiting the shop, having obviously overheard this treasonous conversation. 

Ono, a crude, lazy wing spiker who has never made it on the regular rotation, crosses his arms. "Right, Kuroo? Kozume-kun always knows what he's doing when he's sucking off – "

"Shut it," Hojo says, stepping in front of Ono, attempting to herd him back. 

"If Ono-san has something to say," Yaku says, looking around Hojo to glare at Ono. "He should say it."

" _Don't_ , Yaku," Hojo snaps. "Now's not the time, we're not having a fight this close to a tournament."

"So you want us to just ignore what Tora said??" Ono demands, as if he's being asked to do the impossible, and the rest of the third years mutter their agreement.

Sensing the unavoidable explosion ballooning to a dangerous, unsustainable size, Kuroo puts a warning hand on Yamamoto's shoulder, getting a grip on his shirt, ready to hold him back. He doesn't agree with Hojo about a lot, but he does about this. None of them can afford suspensions or demerits today. Kuroo looks over, checking the rest of the team – they're watching, wary, Kai has an arm outstretched in what looks to be an unconscious movement in front of Kenma, but Kenma hasn't really reacted to anything since the third years exited the shop. He watches from behind Kai, back stiff, with his usual wide, observant gaze, eyes traveling from one speaker to the next.

"We all know the only reason Kuroo's _boyfriend_ is gonna replace Chaoki is cause he puts out – "

"I said _shut it_!" Hojo shouts over his shoulder, but it's too late, Yaku's on that like a bulldog, storming past Hojo, getting in Ono's face. 

" _Bullshit_ – " 

" _Yaku_."

"None of you even _wanted_ Chaoki to set until you got all up your own ass about Kenma – " 

Ono's backhand is so fast Kuroo doesn't clock in on what happened until he hears the _SMACK_ of it meeting Yaku's face, with such force Yaku nearly loses his footing, stumbling to the side. 

There's a moment of stunned silence, and Kuroo's vision tunnels. 

Using his grip on Yamamoto to shove him out of the way, Kuroo marches toward Ono in five cold, furious steps, and by his third the world around him finally reacts, in an explosion of noise, furious shouting – 

"What's wrong with you!?"

"Asshole!" 

"If Yaku wants to get in people's faces like that – "

"Hey, Kuroo-san – hey – stop – " 

Kuroo reaches Ono and shoves him back as hard as he can, making Ono fall back several steps. _No you fucking don't_ , Kuroo's thoughts snarl nonsensically as he follows, pulling back his fist to slam it into Ono's face, hoping for the same loud, echoing smack – 

Before his fist makes contact, two sudden, heavy weights hold Kuroo's arms down on either side, Yamamoto and Kai. Their grip stays firm as Kuroo jerks, trying to break free, while across from him, Ono is being held back the same by the rest of the third years. 

" _Knock it off!_ " Hojo is shouting, when the shop attendant throws open their door.

"I already called your school!" they shout, waving the phone in their hand as evidence. "If you kids don't get out of here in the next five seconds, I'm calling the police next!"

"Of course – we apologize, we're leaving," Kai says, and jerks Kuroo back with real force, and he stops fighting, allowing himself to be dragged away from the scene. 

~

The trains are actually north, but that's the direction the third years went, and there's no way they can stand together on the platform without starting another fight. So they go south instead, aimlessly.

"You alright?" Kenma's quiet voice asks, behind him.

"Yeah," Yaku says. 

Kuroo looks over his shoulder. Yaku's scowling hard at the dirt, hands in fists. His cheek is a blotchy, inflamed red, a deep color that promises to bruise. Suddenly, he huffs, and turns on Kuroo. 

"You just got us all suspended, going off like that."

"How, exactly?" Kuroo asks, through his teeth. He's angry, his own hands in tight fists, too, still breathing hard. That was his first fight, his first serious fight, and adrenaline is singing through his veins in a violent way he's never felt before. It's still ready, his muscles still tense, still on high alert. Kuroo feels shaky and desperate for an outlet – kind of absurd for it to be Yaku, considering, but he'll take it. It looks like Yaku needs to burn it off, too.

"If you hadn't been attacking Ono when the clerk saw us, they wouldn't have called the – " Yaku suddenly stops, wincing, and a second later, spits a bloody glob at the dirt. 

From behind him, he hears Yamamoto's surprised, impressed inhale.

"Guys, come on," Kai groans, sounding exhausted.

"Ono _hit_ you – "

"I know how to take a hit, Kuroo!" 

"So what, because you _can_ , that means you _should_?"

Kuroo was not expecting this to be the argument settling thing. It's not exactly a profound or cutting comeback, but for some reason, it seems to do the job. Yaku stops short on his retort, closing his mouth slowly. He looks Kuroo up and down almost suspiciously – as though he just gave him a semi-insulting riddle. Annoyed, but setting that aside for curiosity's sake. 

Kuroo takes a breath as Yaku backs off. Calming down, vision clearing, he sees the rest of the team, staring at him and Yaku in worried, respectful silence, and runs an embarrassed hand through his hair. 

"Anyway," Kuroo says, awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

That really was a dumb move, Yaku is right. He can't bring himself to regret it, just yet, still furious at the very memory, the _sound_ of the slap, and the ruptured vessels in Yaku's cheek, the blood slowly seeping, swelling, spilling through the cut on the inside of his mouth. All of this makes Kuroo's hands go back into fists, which he wants to plow through Ono's face. 

Admittedly, Kuroo had wanted to fight Yaku in the past, and even still sometimes today, but that – for one thing, is clearly several degrees away from reality, and for another, wouldn't look like _this_. He wouldn't use force to shut Yaku _up_. What Yaku says is literally the entire point – he'd listen to every infuriating thing Yaku said, and then prove him _wrong_ , alongside a vague and ever present desire for aggressive skin contact. 

"Ono's going to be suspended," Kenma says, when it's been long enough to start heading toward the train themselves. "Probably."

"Well, Yaku's right," Kai says, grimly. "We all could, after that."

"Seriously?!"

"At worst it'll probably be just me and Ono," Yaku grimaces, thumbing toward Kuroo. "And this idiot."

"Yeah, _just_ you and Kuroo-san," Yamamoto says, all furious sarcasm. "It's not like the team is depending on either of you." 

This properly shames both Kuroo and Yaku, wincing as one. 

The entire group is subdued and miserable on the platform at the station, saying muttered goodbyes to one another as they board their various trains home.

"Does Ono actually think we're gay?"

Kuroo blinks rapidly at this question from Kenma, beside him on the otherwise empty train. He's looking at his PSP, of course, playing, but Kuroo can hear the weight in his voice. What it means, he's not sure, but it does mean _something_ to Kenma.

Kuroo clears his throat. "I don't think so. I think they were just trying to be assholes. Get a rise out of us."

"Right," Kenma says.

"… Did it get to you?" Kuroo asks. It would surprise him if it did, and he would feel a bit bad for missing it. He hadn't even considered the possibility, none of his vengeful rage had been about defending Kenma's reputation. He didn't think Kenma would care.

"No, but," Kenma says. He looks slightly put out, pausing his game. "I don't like being easy to read."

 _Easy to read_.

They've danced around it, it's been implied, and Kuroo could make assumptions if he wanted, but this is by far the most direct statement Kenma's ever made, the first time he's volunteered any kind of label or name. 

"You – are gay?"

"Yeah," Kenma says. He says it lightly, but switches his game back on, focusing on the distraction it provides. "And you like both. Right?"

"Basically."

Kenma nods. "Why haven't you ever dated anyone?"

Kuroo sighs, tipping his head back. He's crashed from the adrenaline rush, and does not have the energy to get into it right now, not with Kenma, who will be able to dissect every cowardly half truth, demand to explore each vulnerable crease. He can't open himself up like that right now. "I don't know."

Kenma nods, and seems oddly disappointed by his answer, which is pretty unfair considering how infuriatingly nebulous and private Kenma is about himself when he decides to be.

They reach their stop. They leave the train, say a quiet goodnight at Kuroo's gate, then try to prepare for tomorrow.

~

The next school day is a long, agonizing wait for the second shoe to drop. Yaku and Kuroo exchange worried glances every hour or so, staring at the door of their class, waiting for the silhouette from the office runner to appear, waiting for a voice over the intercom to summon one or both of them to the principal's office.

It doesn't happen, though. The morning turns to noon, then afternoon, they reach their last class of the day and the concerned looks turn to confusion as they gather their belongings.

"Maybe the clerk was lying," Yaku says, when they meet Kai out in the hallway, and discover he hadn't heard anything, either. "Maybe they didn't call anyone."

"Maybe," Kai says. His eyes are locked on Yaku's cheek, though he looks away quickly. Kuroo was right, blues and dark purples are starting to lick around the edges, molting through the middle dramatically, but it's hardly an unusual sight on Yaku. The only comments from their classmates were crude, good-natured teasing about taking a ball to the face.

"Ready to face the music?" Kuroo asks, when they make it to practice, hands on the door of the gym.

"Just get it over with," Yaku mutters, slipping under Kuroo's arm to push them open himself.

Nekomata is there, along with half of their teammates. 

Instead of practicing, they are seated on the floor around his chair in a somber, quiet half circle. 

There's a clear divide, third years on one side, the rest on the other.

Nekomata stops Yaku before he sits down, summoning him closer to look over his face. Yaku endures this with obvious humiliation – Kuroo's not sure if it's part of the punishment, to doing this in front of everyone. But he says nothing when he's finished, just grunts in disapproval. 

Yaku escapes back to Kuroo and Kai, sitting between them heavily. Embarrassment Yaku was successfully hiding the rest of the day finally surfaces on his face as he glares down at his shoes. Nekomata still hasn't said anything, and they're all waiting in silence, but Kuroo can't stand this insecurity on Yaku's face. It makes him look small. At a loss of what else to do, Kuroo gives Yaku's shoulder a shove. 

That gets the insecurity off his face at least, he scowls at Kuroo, then shoves back. When Kuroo rocks with it, and grins, it softens Yaku's expression.

The doors finally open and close for the last time when Fukunaga arrives. He takes in the scene with some surprise, quickly sitting down in the far back. 

Nekomata waits a beat longer, then grunts heavily, leaning toward the stack of his belongings beside his chair. He grabs a journal. 

He pages it through it slowly, then finds what he's looking for, holding it up for everyone to see. 

It's a rotation. Kuroo's eyes fly across the page quickly - _Kuroo T, Kai N, Yamamoto T, Fukunaga S, Kozume K, Yaku M_.

Not a single third year. 

Kuroo's mouth drops, looking over sharply to see their reaction. He sees a lot of blank faces, and some cold, barely contained outrage. It's only then that he realizes he doesn't see Ono at all.

"This is the line up we're going to use. I expect it to be strong enough to make it to nationals," Nekomata says. "But that's next year."

A beat of surprise pulses through the team.

Nekomata turns the page on the journal, and there's a second rotation drawn up. It's the one Kuroo already knows, the one they've been using so far this year, the one Hojo developed. The one with Chaoki instead of Kenma.

"This is not the best line up this team has to offer," Nekomata says. "It's not going to stand long against many of the powerhouses in our prefecture. It's limited. It was selected out of pride and greed. Ono has been suspended from club activities. For the rest of you, your punishment is that you will get exactly what you wished. I will not correct the tailspin you've put this team in. You will play in this formation, and you will not advance nearly as far as you could have if you had cooperated as a full team."

There's silence as he closes the journal, and slowly stands.

"No practice today," he says. "Go home."

~

Nekomata's words seep into the team like a curse. 

Despite a year of devoted, relentless practice, they do worse than Kuroo's ever seen at interhigh, taken out in the second round by a school Kuroo's never heard of, comprised entirely of first and second years. Even they're shocked at the win, shouting at one another in surprise on the other side of the net, in a loud victory huddle. 

Nekoma watches their celebration, then heads back to the bus. When they arrive at the school, instead of going to the gym for the final talk and farewells, the third years simply keep walking, out the school gates, toward the station. 

The next time Kuroo sees Hojo is in the hall, in the brief window of time after their final game and before graduation. He nods, because he doesn't know what else to do, and Hojo looks away sharply, saying nothing.

"What a fucking year."

"Mm," Kai agrees. 

They're standing at the gate. Lingering. Not quite wanting to say goodbye.

"Ever think about quitting the team?" Kai suddenly asks.

"No," Yaku says. He actually sounds a little bitter about it, like this is a curse inflicted upon him without his choice. 

The three of them are official graduates of their second year at Nekoma, and the next time they'll pass through these gates, they'll be third years. Kuroo will be wearing the captain's jersey. Nekomata will be waiting to guide them to victory. They'll start preparing for their adult lives ahead of that, colleges and careers. 

Kuroo gives both Kai and Yaku a good shove past the gates, in a hurry to get this process started.

"Next year's gonna be better," he says.

"That'll depends on the first years," Yaku says, darkly, apparently still in a gloomy mood. Kuroo laughs off this concern, sure that they'll be able to handle anything that comes their way. 

~

They get eight first year applications, which is a pleasant surprise, especially after their embarrassing performance at Spring high. Three of them show promise of being potential regulars, and seven of them are respectful, humble, and ready to learn, and their upbeat energy is a welcome relief after last year's suffocating atmosphere. 

Kuroo feels that excitement that had been so thoroughly beaten around over the past few years, tentatively poke its head up from where it's been hibernating in his chest. 

"This is the clubhouse – "

"We get to use it?!" Inuoka asks, delighted disbelief. 

"Yep," Kuroo says, and it feels like it's banishing the last of the dark energy of their senpai, watching the first years marvel at the perfectly generic space, opening the closet as though they'll find something amazing hiding away in there instead of cleaning supplies. 

"Lev, your locker's here, right below mine."

"Really? Hey, maybe we should switch, Yaku-san! It'll be easier for you to reach this lower one – "

Kuroo saw Yaku hit Yamamoto exactly three times last year: when he made a snide comment about Nekomata's tardiness, when he mused about using mirrors looking up skirts, and when an attempted prank went wrong and stained Fukunaga's shirt.

Haiba Lev seems unleash something in Yaku, though, because he gets a rather brutal smack to the back of the head for this comment, and these kicks and slaps do not stop the rest of the year. Yamamoto and Lev get the worst of it, but he has no qualms with whacking the back of Kuroo's head for a particularly obnoxious comment. 

This probably should be annoying, and Kuroo probably should say something about it, but he finds it's satisfying in a way he doesn't understand, and doesn't want to think about. It is what it is, and if it's anyone's problem, it's Lev's. 

"Could you imagine," Kuroo says one day, watching Lev waltz into practice ten minutes late, then loudly beg for some tosses from Kenma. "If Lev had to put up with our senpai?"

"Yes," Yaku says. Kuroo was expecting a laugh, but Yaku looks very serious. Thinking about it, Yaku is right. It's not a very happy image at all.

~

They got a new libero this year, and Yaku had lit up when he saw Shibayama in the gym, taking his hand and shaking it rapidly, eyes bright. Shibayama is fine, but Yaku's skill has skewed the team's expectations of what a libero should be capable of, and it's not fair but Kuroo feels disappointment when he realizes how far Shibayama's got to go.

That really is not fair though. 

What sets Yaku apart from most liberos isn't just his reflexes, it's the fact that Yaku reads people. 

He follows rallies, he has an innate ability to keep calm, observe the opposing team as a whole, pick up on their habits, their strengths and fall backs. Predicting where the ball will be tossed, already half way there before it even meets the spiker's palm. 

It's a very specific sort of concentration, that makes his eyes nearly glow in focus. 

Kuroo is familiar with the sight, has only ever seen it on the court, so it's a startling thing to see it in the middle of a free period, a class discussion hosted by their class president. 

They're talking about the school festival, spirit week, and Yaku didn't seem particularly invested one way or the other, doodling lazily in his journal until the moment food is brought up as a possible activity.

"Food is always popular."

"Hey, didn't your parents just buy that really nice Takoyaki pan?"

"Yeah, and there's no way they're letting me take it out of the house."

"I can't cook anyway. Can anyone here?"

The class representative sighs, looking at the list on the board. Play, maze, fortune telling, survey, race are all crossed out. "Oh! You know what we could do? Instead of cooking ourselves, we could just serve!"

Yaku's eyes have been darting from speaker to speaker, and here he braces slightly at his desk. Kuroo figures it out the second before it comes out the class representative’s mouth.

"A maid cafe!"

Yaku's eyes dart over to a particular group of girls in their class – three of them that are particularly outspoken, one is even known for lobbying – unsuccessfully – for a variation of the girl's uniform that include pants. 

"You wish," she says.

"No way." 

"Having all the girls dress up like maids will make our whole class look like perverts," says one of the other guys. "You know what would be _funny_ – "

Yaku's eyes dart toward Toshi, a very bold, loud boy who likes to make loud jokes, who has teased Yaku specifically in the past because of his height, and will surely take the upcoming suggestion – 

" – is a _crossdressing_ maid cafe."

Toshi's eyes light up, and starts turning toward Yaku.

Kuroo shifts, leaning against Yaku's desk, blocking him from view. 

"I'm up for it," Kuroo says, crossing his arms. "But only if Toshi volunteers, too."

Toshi reels back, upended. "No one wants to see me in a skirt!!" 

But the rest of the class is already in love with the idea – after the volleyball club's near win at nationals last year, and becoming team captain this year, Kuroo is arguably the most popular student in their class, his participation has been assumed from the beginning. Toshi is notorious in their own class for being an ass, and there's a rabid gleeful swelling at the idea of him getting his comeuppance. 

"Toshi, Tetsurou – who else??" 

"Fumito is captain of brass band, right?" Kuroo asks. Fumito winces at his name being thrown into the ring. He's not terribly tall, but he is wide. A maid uniform won't suit him at all. But he nods. "All the captains in our class should participate."

Kuroo doesn't give any reasoning for this. He has none. The worry that this will be questioned only lasts a moment, already there's enthusiastic nods and murmurs about leadership, showing school spirit, and so on. 

It takes a bit of twisting, quick talking, but Kuroo keeps his position, blocking any of the suggestions from aiming at Yaku.

It's weeks later, when the doomed maids of their cross-dressing cafe have received their uniforms, by the time one of their classmates takes a look at Yaku, helping carry the pastries they've ordered from a local shop. 

"Hey, what the heck? Why isn't Morisuke doing this?? At least he'd fit! I can barely zip mine shut!"

Yaku doesn't bother to stop, grinning over his shoulder. "Maybe next year!" 

"There _is_ no next year!"

"Ah, too bad then!" Yaku says, disappearing into the back. 

Their class is a moderate success, though apparently there's a second year room doing their own cross-dressing maid cafe, and they spend most of the day hearing unflattering comparisons to them. It's not until the very end, when they're all cleaning up, as Kuroo carries the plates down to the cafeteria – 

"The only half decent one in senpai's class is Kuroo-san." 

"Mm, it suits him in a way, doesn't it? His legs... "

Kuroo looks around desperately for anyone else to corroborate this story. There's no one, he's alone, and it's frustrating, but Kuroo carries this private victory back to class proudly.

"Hey. Kuroo," Yaku is waiting just outside the door. He looks off to the side, hands wrapped in the front of his shirt. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Uh – thank you. Really."

Kuroo blinks.

It had been for Yaku, of course. Kuroo hadn't even thought twice about it before jumping in the way of that bullet. But suddenly, in the face of this, Kuroo is embarrassed by the fact, and wants to pretend otherwise. 

"Maybe – " His voice cracks. "I was just messing around. Not everything is about you, Yakkun."

Yaku looks down toward his feet, but Kuroo can see the curve of his cheek, the smile spreading across his face. "Okay," he says, then looks up, smiling again. 

Yaku turns back to help clean up. Kuroo stares forward, frozen, his heart beating hard against his chest, a rapid thing.

What the fuck. Was that smile. 

~

It's hard because a lot of flirting is actually just signs of being happy and healthy. It's possible that Kuroo just made Yaku extremely happy. And that's all. And it just felt like flirting. 

Yaku talks about girls, Kuroo reminds himself, scathingly, but – so does Kuroo. Yaku is touchy with Kenma, and Kuroo, but he's just kind of a touchy guy – 

But what is Kuroo even doing? He remembers the conversation with Kenma on the train, holding him in bed, and countless other examples of intimacy that he enjoyed. 

Kuroo's not a confused first year anymore, struggling to even get a grip on his raging hormones. He knows what all of this means, and paving two separate paths in his heart is stupid, and setting himself up for disappointment. 

So what does Kuroo… want?

Well, Kuroo wants a lot of things.

He wants to win nationals, he wants his father to stop drinking, he wants Kenma to meet strangers without folding into the quietest, most twitchy version of himself, he wants to travel, he wants to win championships, he wants to climb mountains, and discover new elements and name them after his mother. 

A want is, ultimately, irrelevant. Kuroo can want the sky and the stars and the moon all he likes, he's not going to have much to show for it.

Kuroo has wanted Yaku. But distantly, one of those impossible, abstract wants. One of many things he would never, ever, ever actually have, and knew better than to put stock in. 

Yaku is blunt truths. Yaku is dogged, unrelenting determination, Yaku is unimpressed disbelief, Yaku is one eyebrow raised in skepticism when offered weak excuses. Yaku is unquestioned, impatient belief in Kuroo. Yaku knows when Kuroo is at his best, and never accepts anything _but_ Kuroo's best, and as a result Kuroo is his best with Yaku is around.

 _Can he keep up with that?_ is the question. Does he want to? Is it worth it? Apparently part of him thinks yes, to flair to life so immediately at just a soft, happy smile.

"Kuro," Kenma says, sounding frustrated. "Help."

Kuroo blinks. It's a rare thing for Kenma to ask for outright, it clears his mind of any other concern, looking up from where he's washing down a desk, still in his maid uniform. 

It takes a beat to make sense of the predicament – Kenma is standing the otherwise empty classroom, lifting his hand, a narrow can of energy drink where the end of his pointer finger should be.

"I dropped a 5 piece inside," Kenma mutters, diverting his gaze. "It's stuck."

Kuroo laughs so hard Kenma scowls and starts to hurry away, can still dangling ridiculously from his finger, but Kuroo catches him around the waist, stills him, then bends and carefully helps push Kenma's long, thin line of a finger free of the sharp metal edges, struggling to keep the laughter in as he goes.

It slides free. 

"All better," Kuroo says, giving the finger still in his hand a quick, teasing kiss.

Kenma yanks his hand back, blushing a bright, pretty pink, but he's in a surly, embarrassed mood as he waits for Kuroo to gather his belongings. Still, he does wait, sunset a bright, orange gold behind him.

Kenma is quiet promises. Kenma poorly hidden, raw vulnerabilities, Kenma is fleeting, suppressed excitement, Kenma is pushing himself past his limits, daily, pushing himself to exhaustion, for the sake of Kuroo's unvoiced happiness. Kenma is an open hand, at his side, twitching slightly, waiting, expecting Kuroo to grab it, unable to reach out himself. Always there, a quiet presence just a step behind, threatening to fade away if Kuroo loses track. Could he ever leave that hand waiting? 

~

There's not much difference between the brain of an addict and a brain in love. 

A brain in love is a quivering, jelly-like animal in a bath of chemicals – the good stuff, the stuff that's stored way, way below rational thought, the stuff below even impulse, the very core, most instinctive base, the thing that tells a person where to aim their eyes, and to keep them there, because what they're looking at is important, intensely, pumping out more of that reward the longer they stare.

A brain of an addict and a brain in love obsesses, fixating on details of their obsessions, replaying them over and over again as they build of the courage to do something – anything – to get another hit. 

How are multiple addictions solved? Kuroo searches for this, but finds most experts agree that there is a primary addiction, and secondary ones come after that. 

Of course it's impossible to want both equally. The trick is to figure out which one you want more.

Kuroo thinks about a world where he never met Yaku. Where the simple, easy rhythm between himself and Kenma was never challenged, where his excited momentum from junior high never hit that speed bump, crashing headlong into the cruelty of his upperclassmen. The possibility of Kenma quitting volleyball entirely feels higher. But he'd still be there, he'd still be Kuroo's, whether he joined a high school club or not. Kuroo would've made peace with that, being welcomed into Kenma's warmth, without hesitation, without any second guessing. 

Kuroo, from that world, in his third year, would be making plans, now. Accounting for Kenma, trying to project how they would fit together in the long term. It wouldn't be the easiest thing, but it's the sort of challenge Kuroo likes, something satisfying and rewarding, trying to feel out what Kenma wants to study, what he wants to do five years, ten years from now.

Kuroo thinks about a world where he never met Kenma. The lonely, empty childhood, Yaku would've been even more infuriating presence when they first met, it would've taken Kuroo a while longer to make sense of him, he thinks, what he wants from him. Kuroo from that world – would be taking more risks, pushing himself harder, going further, comparing to Yaku's accomplishments and thrilling at his successes. Thrilling more, in ways he never could've guessed, at seeing Yaku's gratitude, his thanks, his smile. The possibility of that, the chance to see more of Yaku like that, close, with him, would be breathless excitement, hope for what is to come, what they can do together, how it would feel together – all the different ways he can make Yaku smile like that – 

The stimulant, or the sedative. The adrenaline rush, or the quiet calm. The road less traveled, or the familiar path home. 

Kuroo wants both.

~

Of course if there's a world without Yaku and one without Kenma, there's one without Kuroo. 

He likes this less – not for the obvious reason, but because he can't come up with any way they would've, somehow, still met without Kuroo dragging Kenma to stand in front of Yaku. If he could, though, this would certainly be a nice world to visit. 

"You're sick."

"I don't get sick," Yaku says.

Kai puts the back of his hand against Yaku's cheek. "You're hot."

"It's warm in here," Yaku says.

"It's not warm in here," Lev says. "The doors are open!"

"I'm wearing a thick sweater," Yaku can't even keep his eyes open through the protest, drooping backward. 

"Yaku," Kenma says, hand on his arm.

Yaku whines, like a child, but follows when Kenma takes him to the bench. When Kuroo looks over again, Yaku's resting with his head against Kenma's shoulder, asleep or close to it. This is a glimpse of that world, maybe. But only a glimpse, because it's not much longer before Kenma stands up.

"Kuroo," Kenma says. "Yaku's ready to go home."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Kenma says, shrugging on his bag. "I'll walk him to the station."

"Right," he says. 

Yaku waits by the bench, eyes barely cracked open. He follows without question when Kenma takes his hand, tugging him toward the door. They walk out of the gym, down the steps, and out of sight. Kuroo thinks he must have taken him further than just to the station, because he doesn't come back the rest of the day. 

~

"Do you think Yaku's gay?" 

Kenma's reaction to this question is, hands down, one of the most fascinating things Kuroo's ever seen from him. He jams both thumbs on the buttons of his PSP, jerking upright in his seat, then scrambling to recover from the damage he caused his game, pausing as soon as he manages. 

"Uh," Kuroo laughs, looking him up and down. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Kenma says. "I mean. Yeah, I'm fine. I don't – I don't know about Yaku."

"I don't know if you're telling the truth or not," Kuroo says. "But you've never sounded more like you were lying in your life."

Kenma huffs. His face is going pink, and he shifts, hiding deeper into the hoodie over his head.

"Do you – have a crush on Yaku?" Kuroo asks, the only other explanation he could think of for this reaction.

"Don't be a jerk," Kenma mutters, and he sounds truly humiliated. "If you want to know something about Yaku, you should just ask him."

"Mm," Kuroo says, considering this. Maybe Yaku told him something in confidence? His mind goes wild for a moment, imagining that Yaku confessed his own feelings to Kenma, and Kenma turned him down – that would certainly explain this reaction, but it seems a little unlikely. He's not sure why outside of an irrational voice, speaking very firmly from Kuroo's subconscious saying that _he would **know**_. 

"Ready for nationals?" Kenma asks in a miserable little mutter, and if he's _that_ desperate to change the topic, Kuroo can only go along with it.

"Of course."

~

The dance he knows down to his bones; they don't quite make it to nationals, then they practice, and practice, and practice, and then they do. 

They make it to the top eight of the country, and after a game so exhausting part of Kuroo was begging for it to just _end_ , and he didn't care on which side of the net, he got his wish, and they lost. 

"Where were you?" His father's angry voice asks from somewhere inside the home when Kuroo walks through the door. He was gone four days, so it's a reasonable thing for any parent to ask, but Kuroo can hear the slur and irrational anger. "Hooking up with some slut from school?"

"No," Kuroo says, the most hurtful thing about this being that his father is so unfamiliar with him that he doesn't even know where to strike if he wants to hit a nerve. Vulgar nonsense about anonymous classmates is an insult Kuroo’s used to by now, one that started getting thrown Kuroo's way in junior high, after a growth spurt that left him taller than his father. "Nationals. We made it to nationals. Volleyball stuff."

"I _know_ the fucking sport, Tetsurou," his father bites out, sloppily. "Your mother played that."

"I know."

Kuroo is heading to his room, and his father has dragged himself to his feet, and is starting to follow. It's unusual for him to mention Kuroo's mother outright. It usually means for a rough night, and Kuroo wonders if he's going to have to text Kenma, asking him to set up the spare mat on the floor of his bedroom. 

"Didja lose?"

"Yeah," Kuroo says, shortly, peeling off his jersey top. His father watches from the doorway of his room, glaring unsteadily. Then again, maybe he'll just pass out.

"Fucking. All that time, and you _lost_?"

"Yeah."

"Fucking loser – "

There's a knock on the door. 

They don't often get visitors and for a moment it seems to stun them into a truce, blinking at one another in surprise. 

His father, closer to the door, shoves himself backward to answer. It is certainly one of his father's acquaintances or coworkers, so Kuroo continues changing, pulling on clean pajama pants and a sweater. He's going to lay down, when he hears, to his _horror_ , Yaku's voice.

"Sorry to intrude – "

"But you're intruding anyway," his father says.

Kuroo is up and rounding the corner quickly, in time to see Yaku blink up in confusion at the mean tone his father used. This is kind of the best thing about Yaku, his default reaction to being disrespected is often confusion, like he's not quite sure what's happening. 

"Uh. I just wanted to drop something off for – uh. Your son? Tetsurou?" Yaku holds up Kuroo's phone, and Kuroo slaps his own pockets on useless reflex, confirming what he's seeing. "He left it on the bus."

"Sorry – thanks," Kuroo says, hurrying forward, but before he can make it, his father grabs his phone from Yaku's hand, and chucks it over Yaku's head, to the street, where it cracks into two pieces.

Yaku blinks, stunned, still holding out his hand.

"Fuh – fucking loser. Did you lose, too?" his father demands, bending to get in Yaku's face, and Kuroo gets a hand on his father's shoulder, trying to tug him back, both of them are ignoring Kuroo's hissed apologies, and urges to drag his father back inside.

" _Lose_?" Yaku repeats.

"That fucking – the fucking – game, you _lost_ \- "

"We're the top eight in Japan! I'll take that ' _loss_ ,'" Yaku says, furious, defensive. "And what's wrong with you?" He points out to the street, where Kuroo's phone sits. "That was insane!"

Kuroo's father doesn't seem to know how to react to Yaku barking back like this. It's a pretty surprising thing, because Yaku is small, and cute, and even sober people tend to assume gentle things from him, reality must have severely jostled his father's intoxicated expectations. 

"It doesn’t matter how drunk you are, that was messed up!" Yaku keeps going, taking a step forward, into their home, and his father falls back on instinct, actually starting to put his hands up. "If you can't control yourself, you should get your ass to bed before you break anything else!"

"'M – not drunk – "

Yaku glares, not having it, and it's like watching a cat stare down a bear. 

Another moment, then his father mutters an annoyed series of swears, turning around. He shoves Kuroo against the wall as he goes, obediently, to his bed. 

Yaku stands there a moment, breathing heavily, chest puffed up as big as he make it, then the door slides shut, and he relaxes back down. 

"Uh."

Neither of them are able to make eye contact after that, Yaku looks firmly at the floor, and Kuroo does the same, rubbing hard at the back of his neck. 

"Sorry – "

"I don't – "

Both of them stop. 

"Thanks," Kuroo forces out, through the embarrassment. "For bringing back my phone."

"Yeah," Yaku says. "No problem."

He looks stricken, horrified, like he wants to apologize again, but thankfully thinks better of it. He bites down on his lip, nodding and turning around. He leaves the door open when he leaves, which is weird until Kuroo remembers his phone is still sitting out there.

He goes to pick up the pieces, surprised to find it turns on. The piece he saw separate so dramatically was actually the case. The screen is shattered, the metal side dented from impact, but it, somehow, still works. 

~

It's selfish, but Kuroo would rather face the embarrassment of taking his father home from the police station than have his school day interrupted. 

Nationals are over so he doesn't _have to_ go to the gym, but he still prefers to, and one of his teachers was going review one of his essays with him before final exams. 

Kuroo is resentful about all of this, being pulled away from his actual life, when he gets called to the office because of his father. This could actually be a worrying thing, though. His father's always been able to make it through the work day before cracking. This tempers Kuroo's resentment, but only a fraction. 

"So, wait," Kuroo asks, confused when he's given the phone in the office, and told he needs to come down to the police station. "Does he need bail?"

"Oh," the woman on the other line says, voice softening in pity, and that's when Kuroo realizes, just a second before she says it. "Your father – unfortunately, he passed away."

"What," Kuroo says.

"We need you at the station to identify the body, and start arrangements for it – "

Kuroo's ears start ringing. The noise distracts him from the rest of the conversation, and then suddenly, he's at the station. 

He sees his father's dead body, and he tells them, "Yes, this is Kuroo Masaru." He signs a mountain of paperwork as each sheet is handed to him, one at a time validating that yes, he is Kuroo Tetsurou. There's no call to social services, or any discussion about where he'll go, with who. He's eighteen now, an adult, and he should be fine on his own.

And obviously he will be, as he's basically been that, on his own, since his mother died.

He's on the way home from the station with a list of phone numbers in his pocket, a list of names that need to be called, when he sees a bar and takes a sharp turn inside. 

Kuroo hasn't cried since his mother died.

This wasn't something he decided, it just sort of happened. Something turned hollow, something dried up, became shriveled and empty in him. Something that should've been thriving with life. A drought of the soul. 

A desert can't handle rain. It only takes five or six inches to cause massive floods, to completely wreck the region, because it's adapted to life without it. 

His father's dead is a storm above his head. 

He didn't even know the man. But that doesn't matter, apparently, his mind is still reeling from this loss, logically he shouldn't care, logically this should be nothing, but logic doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Flesh rots. It dissolves in flame or is taken apart, devoured and dismantled, cell by cell. He thinks about his father, already decomposing in the police station, just down the street, tucked away in a box, one that slides neatly into the wall, numbered to keep track of, like they would with any object that can't speak for itself. 

Huh. 

His father's dead.

 _Want to hear something?_ he'll say, when he sees Kenma again. _My father drank himself to death_.

Except he won't say it like that, because he knows the kind of face Kenma would make – stricken, horrified. He'd be off-put by Kuroo's behavior and scared. Of course Kuroo wouldn't put him through that.

Kuroo keeps drinking. It doesn't taste good, it doesn't feel good. He feels remarkably clearheaded as the alcohol hits, looking around the bar. It's a small, unimpressive place, there's only seating for a handful of people. People have wasted hours of their lives in this bar, years of their lives. It's like a portal to some miserable purgatory. He realizes, staring at the yellowed stain on the far wall, where the ceiling tile isn't quite flush with the wall, that he could never fall into this. He might self destruct in other ways, but this is too wretched and lonely, there's no appeal.

It's relief for a tension he hadn't known was living inside him, but it brings a profound, deep stab of pity for his father. That he could live through this. How old was he, when he fell in love with his mother? How old was he when he had Kuroo? When his young wife died?

How would Kuroo handle it, if seven years from now, Kenma died?

"Kuroo?"

Yaku is stepping into the bar, eyes wide with concern as he looks Kuroo over. How would he handle it if Yaku died? Looking at him just then, imagining that, makes his very soul shudder, unable to consider it fully.

"Yooo," Kuroo answers with a laugh and a wave.

Yaku's expression goes a little flatter, and Kenma steps out from behind him.

"Kuroo," Kenma says, the exact same tone, and Kuroo laughs at the sight of the two of them, frowning up at him with identically stern, worried glares. Adorable.

"Get him home, I'll take care of his tab," Yaku is saying, stepping around both of them. 

"Hey- hey, I can pay!" 

But the bartender himself is waving Kuroo away, so Kuroo follows the gentle tug of Kenma's hand, stumbling slightly off the stool, to the door.

It's a short walk to Kuroo's place from the bar, and Kuroo is unsteady on his feet, leaning heavily on Kenma, but he bears it, only stumbling twice. The trip is wobbly enough that Kuroo thinks he's going to be sick about half way there, but only needs a moment to pause, and his stomach settles again. 

"You should throw up if you need to," Kenma says, clearly fretting. 

"I'll keep that in mind," Kuroo laughs, slumping a little more than he has to onto Kenma, ruffling his hair. 

Kenma doesn't look annoyed, though, just continues with that worried crease on his forehead. He helps Kuroo unlock the door, and into the house.

That is an unpleasant jab of reverse deja vu – being where Kenma is, probably about his same size, the first time he had to help his father like this, and suddenly Kuroo is disgusted with himself. He's sweaty, smelly, and nauseated. He pushes off of Kenma, refusing his help as he makes it to the bathroom, washing his face, brushing his teeth – and the feel of the brush toward the back of his throat finally does it. He's sick into the toilet, bracing himself against the rim as his body convulses, violently. 

There's wetness on his cheeks when he's finished, and for a moment he thinks he's actually crying – but no. His eyes are just watering.

"Here," Kenma is saying, holding out a cup.

"Yeah, thanks," Kuroo says, voice wrecked. He swishes it in his mouth, spits it out into the toilet. He looks up and sees Kenma's hands are actually wringing, lips pinched together. So Kuroo puts a grin on his face as he gets up, walking toward his bedroom. 

Kenma follows, and watches with that same uncertain air as Kuroo drops into bed. 

"Hey. Kenma." 

"What?" he asks, sitting down beside Kuroo's bed.

"We should play truth or dare."

There. The worry drops, and Kenma's mouth opens a little in confusion. "What?" 

"Yeah, you go first – truth or dare."

"Truth."

"Say dare."

Kenma stares. "I'm not leaving the room," he finally says.

"Yeah, yeah, you won't have to, come on. Dare."

"Alright. Dare."

"I dare you to make out with Yaku."

Kenma flinches back, then surges forward to cover Kuroo's mouth with both hands, as though that will take back the words already spoken.

"Don't say that," Kenma says, sharply. 

"I'll give you 500 yen to watch," Kuroo says, actually joking now. Kenma thinks he was teasing, and Kuroo's intoxicated mind falls into the familiar rhythm on instinct. This annoys Kenma even more, scowling and replacing his hands with a pillow, pressing it against Kuroo's face.

"Go to sleep."

"I will," Kuroo says, pulling it away from his face. "Not like I can stop it, right?"

Kenma's expression wavers. Back to that uncertain, fretting concern. He looks down at Kuroo's throat, then back up to his face. 

"I'm sorry, Tetsurou," he says.

"Eh," Kuroo says, shrugging, covering his face with his arm. This is private. He shares – a lot, he shares everything he can with Kenma but this is something he needs to keep to himself for now.

He's spent a long time trying to shield Kenma from unpleasant things, even the unpleasantness that comes from himself. Asking Kenma to play, only ever citing boredom, never talking about the empty house, the futon where his mother used to sleep.

He's sure Kenma knows. He has no idea how Kenma will react to being faced with it like this.

"Shit," Kuroo laughs flatly. "You can go home, Kenma. I'll sleep. It's fine – "

"Please don't get quiet."

"Eh?" He lifts his arm. 

Kenma is scowling at the floor, looking furious. 

"You – you're loud with Yaku," Kenma says. "And with Bokuto. You don't have to keep yourself quiet around me all the time. I can take it."

Kuroo blinks. He's horrified to feel his chest shake in an uncontrollable jump. Something – broke. In him. Just now. And tears are coming, he realizes, and is horrified, terrified of it, feeling like it's going to break even more, he's going to unravel and fall apart, and he grits his teeth, trying to hold it back. But his chest shakes again. 

"Uhm," he says, and even that grunt is a shaky sound. Tears leak free from his eyes. 

"Tetsurou," Kenma says, gripping Kuroo's hand. "I'm – I'm sorry."

"I know," Kuroo says, squeezing Kenma's hand in return. 

"I hated your dad," Kenma says, suddenly. 

Kuroo blinks in surprise.

"He – he just made you sad, and now he's made you – sadder than you've ever been," Kenma says. 

Kuroo laughs wetly. "Don't think he did this last thing on purpose." 

"I don't care," Kenma squeezes Kuroo's hand with both of his. "I'm. Sorry, that's – that wasn't right to say right now."

Kuroo shakes his head. "No judgment here." 

"I – "

"Kuroo?" 

Yaku is standing in the door of his room. "Your neighbor made dinner – they were worried – I told them you'd reach out to them if they could help. It's downstairs. The dinner is…" 

"Thanks," Kuroo says, wincing at the obvious tears in his voice. Crying in front of Kenma and crying in front of Yaku are two very different things. 

"Uhm," Yaku says. Kuroo lifts his hand again and sees Yaku looking down at his feet, a sort of twitchy discomfort he's never seen on Yaku before. "Did you speak to the school? Or – your father's family? Did they – are you talking to them? With arrangements? Is someone else handling – that?"

Kuroo grins again. "Thanks. Thank you, Yakkun. I don't know much yet."

"Right, sorry," Yaku says. He glances briefly at Kenma. Kenma's expression is – surprisingly cold as he stares back at Yaku. Yaku seems unnerved by that, and by the situation, taking a step backward, out of the doorway. "Sorry," he says again. "You, uhm. If you need anything. I'm here."

Kuroo opens his mouth to respond but Yaku backs out of the room quickly, apparently unsettled. 

It doesn't feel like the moment. It doesn't feel like anything. But Kenma's there just then, and Yaku is not. And this is when it happens, when the decision is made. Kenma crawls into bed with him, and they fall sleep together. 

Then, a week later, they have sex. 

And that's that.

~

Third year ends. 

The final week is filled with a strange, off-kilter energy. Anti-climatic. Kuroo misses most of his exams, but he's already made an agreement with his university of choice, and the school offers to balance his grades to generate a total for an artificial exam. Kuroo's grades are solid, so of course he says yes. 

They get tearful goodbyes from their kohai, sign banners and books for each other and their teachers.

Kuroo's said his goodbyes to his classmates, and Kai, but not quite Yaku.

They're standing in the same place they were at the end of first year, at the end of the courtyard, just beside the stairs. 

"So," Yaku says, awkwardly. "See you around."

If Kuroo was Yaku he'd certainly say something. If Yaku was dumber, if he didn't understand the touches between Kenma and Kuroo that started, if he hadn't been keeping his own distance since then, he'd say something. 

It was something. Something deserves to be said, if only Kuroo was braver…

Kuroo's not, Yaku's not, so the silence lasts. 

"See you, Yakkun," he says.

Yaku smiles, wistful and sad, and heads down the steps of the school.

He's short, so he's out of sight by the forth step, and then gone.


	4. Chapter Four

"Kozume!! Kuroo!" 

Kuroo and Kenma freeze in the process of locking their apartment. Kuroo grimaces at the sight of their neighbor's arm, waving from his own open door across the hall, obviously hoping to join them on the ride down to the bottom floor. 

Their neighbor, Ando, lives alone. He's friendly and old, and likes to cook too much dinner, bringing over any extras to Kuroo and Kenma's apartment. He has a habit of overstaying his welcome, but as far as Kuroo's concerned there's worse things, and he feels some pity for the obviously lonely man. Kenma, though, is merciless. He has very little patience for Ando, sighs when they walk down the hall and can smell his cooking – a good bet that he'll eventually invite himself over – and he's already cringing, inching down the hall, hoping to beat Ando to the elevator. 

Kuroo already knows there is no escape. 

The moment Ando saw them, they were doomed to his company, and – this is honestly the worst part about Ando – the small, energetic, unleashed dachshund comes ripping out of Ando's apartment, barking in short, impatient bursts, tail wagging so hard it's shaking his entire rear end as he reaches them, jumping up onto Kenma's leg.

Kenma reacts as he usually does, pressing against the wall, frowning comically. 

Kenma does not do well around dogs.

Kuroo has told Ando this, which only made Ando laugh indulgently, as he does today when he sees his dog has escaped ahead of him, again.

"Oh, Doitsu," Ando says fondly, taking his time to lock his door. 

Kuroo would bend down and contain the dog himself, but the last few times he tried it, Doitsu got so worked up he pissed on Kenma's leg before Kuroo could lift him away, which was so traumatizing Kenma had to be talked out of throwing out the pants entirely. 

"Taking Doitsu for a walk?" Kuroo asks.

"More like he's taking me!"

"Aren't you worried he'll run away?" Kuroo says, voice pointed. "Without a leash?"

"Oh, no, Doitsu is a good boy," Ando says, missing the hint completely, and all four of them climb onto the elevator together, the dog still determined to show its affection to Kenma's left leg. "I only bring the leash for show, you know, they're so strict about leash laws in Tokyo! It's ridiculous! Did you know you can get a 60,000 yen ticket? Just for not using a leash?? As if Doitsu could ever hurt anyone."

Kenma gives Kuroo a long, tortured look. 

"You know," Kuroo tries again. "He gets so excited, if you could keep him on a leash in the elevator – "

"Ah, if Doitsu would ever allow it! He just runs as soon as I open the door!"

"Maybe, if _before_ you opened the door – "

"So what are your plans for the day!!" Ando asks.

"Class," Kenma says. "Exams."

"Already!" Ando gasps. "My, my, where does the time go? The two of you just moved in – "

"Last year," Kenma corrects, expression and tone dark.

"Still, still," Ando says. They reach the ground floor. "Well, do your best, boys!!" 

The doors open and Doitsu runs out into the lobby.

"We should move," Kenma grumbles, like he does after every conversation with Ando.

"After the lease."

Kenma continues to grumble as they head to the station. 

The story is they're roommates. 

If anyone cared to check, they have two separate rooms, with two separate beds, to prove it. There's not much effort in the story beyond that, though. Kenma's charging station for his phone and various handhelds sit on Kuroo's bedside table. The pillow from Kenma's bed is propped up against the side of Kuroo's, used while gaming on consoles. Kenma's clothes migrate from the closet in his own room to the floor of Kuroo's bedroom, one outfit at a time. 

Even now Kuroo and Kenma don't hold hands, but Kenma stays drifting in Kuroo's space, in a way that's slightly too close for just friends. They should be walking over one another, but they've spent nearly their entire lives learning each other's movements, and it's only a pleasant, constant warmth on Kuroo's chest and side where Kenma lingers, just short of touching. 

Today, Kenma's studying in the library for his final exam tomorrow, so he gets off a stop earlier than Kuroo, who is going to the university proper, for an exam that starts in twenty minutes. 

Kuroo's grade does not depend on this exam, he's performing at the top of his class. He's studying bio-science and engineering in hopes of studying more bio-science and engineering in the future. He knows this material and isn't anxious, only bothering with a cursory reread of his notes last night, which is irritating Kenma quite a bit.

When Kenma decides to care about something, his knowledge on it becomes nearly encyclopedic, but his interests are only ever tangently inline with schoolwork. It's work he really does not enjoy putting effort into, and he's visibly losing patience with trying as the end of his schooling starts peaking on the horizon. 

Kuroo isn't sure what Kenma plans to do with his degree. It's in statistics, which sounds – vaguely useful, but Kuroo has never really been able to imagine Kenma working a regular job, and still isn't able to. His current passion is online, something video game related, and it's earning a nice flow of money, but Kuroo hasn't really been able to follow what it is, exactly. 

"People ask for custom potions for games," he describes, when Kuroo asks.

"For – games you made?"

"No," Kenma says. "For Zelda. Metroid. Games like that."

"So you're selling illegal hacks??" Kuroo asks, incredulous.

"No," Kenma says. "You can't actually use them in-game. People just want – pictures of them."

"… So what's the point?"

Kenma shrugs, unable to explain it, or his inbox full of commission requests for pictures of fake game elements. 

This strange project wouldn't be enough to support them, but it's enough to eat out probably more than they should, finance nerdy little trinkets, while living otherwise frugally off Kuroo's father's life insurance. If Kuroo's planned it right – fingers crossed – the money should be able to support them through his masters degree, and until he finds a job. Fingers double crossed. 

As expected, Kuroo was familiar with nearly everything on the exam, and is in a good, whistling mood when he interrupts Kenma in the library, hunched over a table with three open books and two journals of notes filled with tiny, neat handwriting. 

" _Doppio_ ," Kuroo says, putting the cup in front of Kenma's face and holding it there until he grabs it.

Kenma sits upright slowly, then takes a long, miserable drink.

"How goes it?" Kuroo asks, resting his hands on Kenma's stiff, knotted shoulders. 

"Poorly."

Kuroo looks over the material, but as always, he does not know this enough to be a useful study partner.

"Don't suppose there's any last minute study sessions you could crash?"

Kenma raises an eyebrow at him. As if he would if there was. "Thanks for the coffee." 

" _De nada_."

Kenma finishes his coffee, then sits there, paging through his notes, resting his chin in his hand, while Kuroo braids a portion of his hair. There's a few hours spent of Kuroo scrolling through his phone and Kenma's pencil scratching against his journal, before Kenma decides he's done as much as he can do. 

It's dark out by the time Kenma gets to his feet, and starts packing away his materials. 

With a heavy sigh, prepared to be annoyed with the answer, it's not until they've made it home, on the elevator up to their apartment, that Kenma asks how Kuroo's exams went.

Kuroo can't help the grin across his face, and Kenma's scoffing already. 

"I think I probably did alright," Kuroo says, as humbly as possible.

"Whatever," Kenma grumbles. 

"You'll do fine," Kuroo says, and Kenma just glares.

It's sharper than Kenma's usual reserved self – this is Kenma stressed, frustrated, feeling defeated. Kenma's instincts at this time – at every time, ever, really – is to pull away and resolve it alone, so it takes some cajoling, but after dinner Kuroo talks Kenma into taking off his shirt, then laying out on his stomach for a long, thorough massage. 

"Waiting for something?" Kenma asks, his hands in tense little fists on either side of his head after Kuroo climbs over him, resting on his thighs 

"Just admiring the view," Kuroo says, taking Kenma's hands in his, shaking the tension out a bit before straightening them at his sides. 

And Kuroo does like Kenma's body. It's so different from his own, the pale, thin lines, his shoulders, pleasantly broad but so narrow that his shoulder blades remind Kuroo of the hollow, fragile wings of a bird. The way the muscles and soft skin feel when Kuroo presses down, forcing the knotted up, tensed muscles to release, relax. Kuroo's hands travel up and down his back, and he grins at the eventual sigh – soft and relieved, that escapes from Kenma's mouth. 

Manipulating Kenma's body like this, feeling him loosen into a contented, warm and relaxed puddle, hearing his soft, pleased noises, it doesn't take long until Kuroo starts showing interest, feeling himself harden. 

Kuroo shifts back slightly to hide it, but Kenma knows him too well.

Cheeks flushed pink, Kenma glances over his shoulder, and cants his ass back deliberately, pressing it flush against Kuroo's crotch. Calling him out.

Well. Kuroo's not one to back down from a challenge, and he keeps the bold eye contact as his hands slide down to Kenma's hips, slipping beneath the band of Kenma's pants, pushing them down, past his knees, then off the bed. 

Kenma counters by spinning over, onto his back, ending the massage and hooking a leg over Kuroo's hip, starting something new.

Kenma's expression is relaxed and _wanting_ , Kuroo's hind brain immediately identifies. Blood rushing to Kenma's cheeks, his pupils blowing out, exerted, healthy, focused, Kenma is focused fully on Kuroo, on what Kuroo did to him, and will do to him, and this knowledge changes the atmosphere from something relaxed to lustful. 

Kuroo tangles both hands in Kenma's hair as they press together and kiss, sending off a cascade of neural impulses, bouncing between brain and tongue, lips, skin, both of them learning, once again, _I like this person, I like this person a lot_. This reaffirmation turns his brain into a machine humming in pleasure, washed in all the chemicals it takes to make a lovesick fool.

Kuroo pulls back, admiring how the scene has changed, the skin of Kenma's lips, tender and sensitive, are wet from biting, from Kuroo's kisses, and it makes his own lips tingle in memory, that contact, that intimacy, trust. 

There are nearly ten thousand nerve endings packed on the tip of each of Kenma's fingers. Fifty thousand messages traveling up Kenma's arm, to his brain, where it's processed, fifty thousand chances for Kuroo's message to reach, when he takes Kenma's narrow, thin fingers into his mouth, biting lightly, rubbing his tongue along the sensitive tips, _someone loves you._

Using the sensitive tips of his own fingers, Kuroo finds his way deep inside Kenma's body, the gland there – so sensitive Kenma had hated it at first, had kicked and held his breath at any direct contact, and Kuroo had learned satisfaction from rubbing around it, pressing against the skin directly outside of it, until slowly, Kenma had adjusted, grown accustomed, relaxed into it.

Kenma's body knows now, the tide of sensation coursing through his body, knows the delicate, precise touch of Kuroo's fingers, knows the blunter, cruder press of Kuroo's cock. 

"Come on," he says, breathless, sounding impatient, just a little distressed, flexing his legs around Kuroo's waist. 

Kuroo pushes inside, hips snapping in a way that's been hardwired into the human psyche so thoroughly that even the motion alone satisfies a greedy demanding voice wanting more, more, more, wanting _everything_ from this willing body beneath his, wanting to give it _everything_ he has – 

"Fuck," Kuroo groans, as he comes. "Love you, fuck. Kenma."

Kenma is nodding, eyes shut tight, mouth open in a voiceless cry as he takes it. 

Kenma almost never says it back, but in the aftermath his fingers stroke, tender and loving at Kuroo's neck. His arm around Kuroo's waist, possessive, not wanting Kuroo anywhere than where he is: on top of him, inside him. 

Collapsing forward, Kuroo rolls onto his back and takes Kenma with him, away from the wet mess they left behind on the sheets. 

Kenma is contentedly wrapped in a blanket burrito, but Kuroo knows, no matter how comfortably they drop off to sleep, Kenma will still drag the blankets toward himself, until they're a pile between him and the wall, leaving Kuroo's shoulder and side bare until he wakes up from the cold, and wrestles it back. Still, Kuroo is a lovesick fool, and would suffer far worse. 

He wakes in the early morning as Kenma pulls himself from the sheets, getting ready for his class, and his exam.

"Good luck," Kuroo mumbles into the pillow. 

He thinks Kenma's left, until he feels the brief kiss on the apple of his cheek. He smiles, and is asleep again before the door closes.

They'll find out at the end of the month that Kenma passed, but Kuroo meant it when he said he was sure Kenma would do fine. 

~

Kenma is, generally, stagnant. He chips steadily away at each day, each hour, enduring them as best he can while causing as little ruckus as possible. 

When life ultimately forces him to make a large decision, it's something he deliberates on, resentfully, for a while, but the biggest changes in Kenma's life are always impulsive, sudden bursts of often idiotic inspiration. 

Dying his hair blond, selling his PSP, kissing Kuroo. Finding an apartment off campus.

So Kuroo knows exactly what happened when he walks into their apartment after practice and finds Kenma, sitting on the couch, his left bang missing about three inches of hair, and looking furious about it.

"It's not so bad," Kuroo finally says when he stops laughing, running his fingers through what remains of Kenma's hair, snickering. 

"Not so _bad?_ "

"I'm not saying you should leave it like this," Kuroo says. "But it's fixable. You can still," Kuroo tugs at the end of Kenma's new bangs, which just barely make it past eye level. "You know. Use it as blinders. What happened?"

"Someone on the train thought I was a high schooler," Kenma mutters.

"That bothered you?"

Kenma's expression grows even more sour. "She wanted to know if I needed help."

Kuroo snickers, ruffling Kenma's hair, and they find the closest barber shop that's still open. 

"Oh dear," says the barber at the counter when they step inside, looking startled. "You must be the emergency?"

"Yeah – " Kuroo starts to say, and then realizes the barber is looking at _him_.

"Was this a prank, or – ?" the barber asks, hand over his mouth as he eyes Kuroo's hair up and down. 

Kuroo doesn't need to look to see Kenma's grin. 

"Oi. He's the emergency," Kuroo says, pointing down at Kenma's head. 

"Oh. Oh yes, of course," the barber says. "Of course, I should've known, yours is very," the barber makes a broad motion with his hands toward Kuroo's head. "Very – ah, chic. You should've seen my hair back when I was in high school, too. Very expressive!! It's the best time to do it, enjoy it while you can, because you're not going to be able to get away with that kind of look as an adult!"

Kuroo grimaces. 

They both end up getting cuts. 

"So what are you looking for?"

Kuroo has no idea what to say to this. He's only ever used the same man his father went to, who had strict hair styles according to the age of his client. Bowl cuts for children, long top, short on the sides, was the standard for teenager. He's not used to giving instruction.

"Whatever, I guess," Kuroo says. Can't be worse than what he has now, and he's fairly sure it will revert back eventually, regardless of what he does today.

The barber considers him a long moment, from several different angles, then dives in. There's a moment of panic when Kuroo feels the electric razor climb higher than it ever has before, but the result is – Kuroo blinks at his reflection. He has an undercut.

He turns his head left, right. It's the same shape, a bit shorter, but the undercut sort of – makes it seem like the rest of it has a reason for doing what it's doing. It looks almost punkish, except the trim on top has tamed down the extreme arc to something slightly more mature. He shakes his hair, running his hand through the shorter strands, watching it fall back over his eye. He looks – good? He's just getting used to the idea when he's spun around to face Kenma.

"Holy shit."

Kuroo grew up with Kenma and his attraction to him has always felt a degree of known, safe, expected. 

The person sitting across from him has Kenma's sultry eyes, Kenma's pout, and it takes his mind just a moment to realize it is Kenma himself. The shorter hair has transformed his face in a way that makes Kuroo's heart race, suddenly understanding, for the first time, the nervous giddiness that consumed Yamamoto every time he saw a pretty girl. 

Excitement that he already has Kenma – they live together, they fuck, he can touch him any time he likes – makes him feel much younger, flirty, and childish. 

"Hey, stranger," he grins. "What's your blood type?"

"Shut up," Kenma says, face heating bright pink as he looks down at his feet. It's not his usual reaction to Kuroo's teasing, and Kuroo grins wider, running a hand through the new shape of his hair again.

As they walk home Kuroo can't get enough of this new silhouette, this new Kenma, the way it leaves the back of his neck completely bare, a vulnerable, soft, smooth patch of flesh he's grown quite obsessed with by the time they make it to the doors, and Kuroo can't wait for the elevator doors to close behind them properly before pouncing, licking, biting, while Kenma endures it with hitching breaths and fists against Kuroo's chest. 

They fuck, fast and sloppy when they make it into their apartment, and Kuroo wakes to the feeling of Kenma's fingers in his hair, moving experimentally, a soft, pleased smile on his face.

~

Kenma plays volleyball four months in university before quitting – possibly less. 

Kuroo suspects he might have found a quiet nook somewhere to use his hand held when claiming to leave for practice, but it's also entirely possible that nook was just the bench in the same gymnasium the rest of his team practiced. 

Kuroo is a regular on his own team, somehow, having fully expected to be on the bench the majority of his college career, but his coach likes his game sense, finds him reliable and consistent, and out of a team of twenty-two hopefuls, Kuroo is selected as one of the lucky seven. 

This might be something his coach regrets after getting taken out in the third game at the intercollegiate championship, though.

"We don't have to go," Kenma says, running his finger down Kuroo's nose, across his cheek, up to his ear, slowly exploring Kuroo's face, like he often does when struggling to wake up during lazy mornings. These mornings usually result in fucking, so Kuroo really is tempted for a moment. Closing his eyes and groaning softly at the light touches he's learned to associate with grinding Kenma into the mattress. 

Finally, he sighs.

"No," he rolls up, out of bed. "Come on. Bokuto's playing today."

"Yaku, too."

Kuroo pauses on the way to the shower. 

He doesn't know when he stopped saying Yaku's name, and doesn't realize it happened at all until the sound of it makes him flinch, slightly. 

He knew that, though. That Yaku is playing today.

Yaku is usually a firm, steady presence the day of tournaments. He's likely being that right now, Kuroo thinks. In the spare gyms at the stadium, he's probably keeping the pace of his team's warm ups quick, distracting his teammates from their nerves by getting them moving, getting their blood going.

Yaku does get his own pre-game jitters, though. They hit when he's alone, when he doesn't have anyone else to distract him, typically a night or two before a game. 

At Nekoma, Kuroo made a point of texting before going to bed, asking if Yaku thought it would be a good idea if Kuroo tried to pull an all nighter, or binged his father's old curry, or some other idiocy that Yaku could distract himself with, ranting, sending Kuroo text after text until he fell asleep himself.

Kuroo forgot to do that last night, is his first thought, then, the thought that he's actually left Yaku alone for months. But surely Yaku is fine. There's no way he's actually alone. He's easy to get along with, as long as it's not with fourteen year old Kuroo with an irritated fascination. 

Yaku's fine. Probably surrounded by new friends. He doesn't need Kuroo. It's funny that the thought he comforts himself with actually stings a bit.

The games start around noon, but the intercollegiate championship is the biggest sporting event in the country outside of professional leagues, and they will have to hurry if they want to get a good view. 

They get ready, and Kenma starts pulling impatiently at Kuroo's sleeve as he locks their apartment, hearing the ominous jingle of Diotsu's collar and his little paws scratching at his door, Ando's weight slowly shuffling behind that. 

Kuroo hurries, and they barely make it to the elevator before Ando's door opens.

There's already a crowd gathering on the train to the stadium, fans easy to spot in their bright head wraps and robes, a busy crowd for the weekend. 

Kuroo stares over the scene, remembering how excited he'd been, stepping onto this very train at this very time just yesterday, and his heart hurts for a beat or two. He knows how lucky he is. He knows he has next year. He hadn't wanted it to end this soon, though, and for a moment he allows himself to feel the full weight of the loss.

Kenma grips his hand, stepping closer silently, and it helps with the load.

The first game of the day will be Hosei University, orange and blue, and it's a popular color set in the train. They're lead by first year ace Bokuto Koutarou, and if they win, they'll be playing Chuo University, blue and white, where Yaku Morisuke waits on the roster as a reserve libero. 

Yaku's skill and knowledge is invaluable, and likely why he was offered a scholarship to Chuo, but Kuroo doubts they ever intended to use him as a regular. 

Generally speaking, high school liberos do not advance very far in the sport. They are typically small, even next to the average teenager, and it doesn't matter how sharp their reflexes are, that they're standing where they need to be, when they need to be, if they don't have the strength and weight to control the ball slammed at them from giants. 

There gets to be a point where the rest of the teams are super sized monstrosities, and the libero simply needs to be to scale to be effective, and this point is typically college. Wing spikers and middle blockers with potential in receiving will often be encouraged to give the libero slot a chance – Kuroo knows this firsthand, as it was briefly discussed by his own coaches when they saw the level of Kuroo's receives, but they ultimately decided his 190 centimeters is just too useful at the net. 

This seems to have been what happened in Yaku's college team. Yaku is there, in the box, standing out in white and blue instead of blue and white, and his especially tiny stature, but the libero who stands on the court is a former wing spiker.

"He's from Miyagi," Kenma tells him, glancing up from a conversation he's having on his phone with Hinata. "Iwaizumi. Shoyo played him."

"Right," Kuroo says, watching Iwaizumi jog off the court at the end of a play, trading spots with the new server. In the box, Kuroo sees Yaku put his hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder, and Iwaizumi bends slightly to listen to whatever advice he's giving. 

_Good_ , is Kuroo's somewhat angry thought, glad that Yaku is being listened to, that his expertise is being appreciated. It's frustrating that this is the best that could possibly happen for him. Yaku placed as an outstanding libero multiple times in all of Tokyo, and it's – 

"It's frustrating," Kenma says, softly, tucking his phone away. 

"It's life," he says, grimly. 

It's not until he phrases it like that that he realizes the full extent of his frustration, and the fact that it's not just about Yaku's volleyball career. Realizes why he let Yaku's name die on his tongue.

Kuroo has Kenma. He loves Kenma. He is happy with Kenma and he doesn't want that to change – but.

"Yeah," Kenma mutters, but does not sound remotely appeased.

This is a weird element of settling down with a lifelong friend. There's really no secrets between them. Kuroo knows about the smile, and the touches. Kenma clearly knows _something_ about the tension, and the wistful maybe moments. How much it meant, how close Yaku got to stealing either of them away, Kuroo can't say, but he knows they're both thinking about the same thing.

Bokuto hits a cross so violent and loud the ball goes flying high into the air after smashing into the court, and even Kenma has to clap for it. They watch two more rallies in silence.

"For a while," Kenma says. "I thought you were really in love with him."

This terrifying sentence makes Kuroo afraid to look away from the game, to see what's happening on Kenma's face. _Love_ is a charged word for Kenma, one he's careful about using. But when Kuroo works up the nerve, he sees that Kenma doesn't look anything in particular. He could be talking about the weather.

"I've always loved you," Kuroo says.

Kenma sighs heavily.

"What?"

"You're not as subtle as you think you are."

Kuroo sits up from where he'd been leaning forward. "What's that supposed to – "

"And it looks like Chuo is bringing in number 15, a first year!" the announcer table beneath them calls out, and it gets both Kenma and Kuroo's attention. The game has neared the end of the second set, and Bokuto is on a roll, charging forward in an unstoppable streak, when Chuo called a time out. The play is resuming, and instead of the larger libero, Yaku jogs out to the court. "Number 15 is a familiar figure for anyone who follows the high school circuit – Yaku Morisuke. Won the Tokyo prefecture's Outstanding Libero recognition just last year. Played at Nekoma, a nationals regular that has some history with Bokuto's national winning team, Fukurodani."

"Perhaps Coach Zaizen is hoping number 15 has some experience that will slow Bokuto-kun down."

Perhaps he is.

They're not close enough to see Bokuto's face, but as always, the way Bokuto is feeling translates to his arms, legs, fingers, and toes. Bokuto stumbles back dramatically when Yaku takes position on the court, fingers spread, the way a child might react if a monster actually did crawl out from underneath their bed. 

Yaku grins back.

Bokuto's biggest obstacle has always been his own self, but next in line, all through high school, was Yaku's relentless, sticky receives, cutting off his broads, cutting off his crosses, suddenly and always there when he goes for a straight. It was always enough to piss Bokuto off, and he doesn't look like he's handling the surprise very well. 

But Bokuto has gotten stronger in the last year. The impact of his spikes have been echoing powerfully through the stadium the entire tournament, he's hitting with the strength of a professional.

Yaku can still read them, but all he can manage is getting under them. 

Kuroo can see the strain in Yaku's shoulders and arms as he physically forces the ball up into the air, where it spirals wildly, and his teammates dive in a frantic attempt to connect. 

These are nothing like the clean, pristine, seemingly effortless receives Yaku is known for. He's clearly working for these, dropping to his knees each time to balance, stumbling back as he launches them up into the air – sending one straight into his face, knocking him backward. 

But he gets them up.

Yaku only plays that last set, and it keeps his team alive long enough to get to the 30s, but eventually Bokuto gets his traction back, and strong arms his way through.

Yaku dives for the ball – he makes contact, but it goes zinging off, out of bounds. Bokuto's win.

The crowd stomps and hollers, Hosei had been the favorite. Chuo slowly gathers on the sidelines, and Kuroo watches, waiting. Yaku is slow to get to his feet, slow to join his teammates.

That's gotta be a hard loss. Getting subbed in like that, you either have to save the day or it feels like your presence was a mistake. Kuroo wants to be down on the court, giving him a sobering slap on the back, or a comforting grip on the shoulder. He waits to see who that person is for Yaku now, waits for someone to approach, but it doesn't happen, at least not in the brief moment they share on the court.

Chuo's cheer squad is on the other side of the stadium, so Yaku and the rest of the team jogs in that direction, backs to Kuroo, for their final bows, then leaves the gym.

Kuroo is staring after, looking at the place Yaku disappeared, feeling like he lost something, and he has to be quick to follow, or it'll be impossible to find again – when his gaze drops to Kenma. And Kenma's knowing look. And he remembers the conversation they'd been having before getting distracted by the game.

No, Kuroo supposes. He is not always as subtle as he'd like to be. 

"Sorry," he says.

"For what?" Kenma asks, eyes narrowing. 

"I don't know," Kuroo says. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Nothing you don't mean," Kenma says. 

"I meant what I said," Kuroo says. "I've always loved you."

Kenma keeps glaring. He looks like he wants to press. Like he might fight about this, until he gets Kuroo to admit the hanging, unspoken _but_ , the one that means nothing because Kuroo made his decision, and Kenma made his. But he just drops his gaze and shrugs. "Alright."

They get lunch, then watch Bokuto's next game, and most of Kuroo is there, at Kenma's side, the whole time. A part of Kuroo is wandering in the halls under the stands, where the players wait, and recuperate, searching for his post at Yaku's side, so he'll be there when Yaku will let himself feel the weight of his loss.

~

"The lease is ending, so we _can_ move – "

"Yes."

"But Kichijoji," Kuroo whines a little, wrapping his arms tighter around Kenma against his front, for warmth, resting his chin on his shoulder. It's finally gotten cold and wet enough for snow, and it falls slow and heavy on the city streets beside them. Decorated in holiday lights, it's a picturesque view as they wait in line for a movie. "Living anywhere else is gonna add an extra thirty minutes on our commute."

Kenma looks toward him, raising an eyebrow. _That's it?_

Kuroo groans, not wanting to give up that extra time, or the convenience, and he _likes_ Kichijoji, the feel of the neighborhood, the late night coffee shop they visit just down the block, and they have everything they need within walking distance – 

"Kenma?"

It's the voice a someone who just saw a ghost – surprise, but mostly disbelief.

Yaku is blinking rapidly at them in the middle of the sidewalk, snow falling on his hair, and his heavy winter jacket.

"Yakkun!" Kuroo laughs, standing upright from where he'd been draped on poor Kenma. 

"You – " Yaku walks right over, grabs the top of Kenma's hat and pulls it off. He gapes. "You cut your hair."

That kind of rough handling from anyone else would've left Kenma sour faced and annoyed – possibly not Hinata – but Kenma just looks pleased by Yaku's shock. He leans forward a bit, allowing Yaku to touch, but instead of running his hand through his hair, he rests it on the back of Kenma's neck, that tempting curve. 

"It looks great," Yaku says quickly, after visibly forcing himself out of his shock. Then he blinks down at his hat in his hand, like he just realized what he did without asking, pushing it back toward Kenma. "Sorry – you look great, and – you." His attention shifts to Kuroo, demeanor changing completely. Kuroo grins, pulling off his hat for him, dragging his hand through his hair, making a bigger mess than before. Yaku composes himself much faster this time, looking Kuroo up and down. "I saw you on the court. During the tournament. It's better than what you had before."

"Oi," Kuroo says, still smiling. He knows it looks good – and he knows that look in Yaku's face. Yaku looks exactly the same, he hasn't changed a bit, and Kuroo knows that snooty little turn of his nose. Kuroo will have to work to impress him tonight, and it gets his blood moving, excited. 

"Visiting someone?" Kenma asks.

"Uh," Yaku's gaze suddenly shifts to the side. "Yeah. A friend."

A friend. There's only one reason why someone says _friend_ like that, and he can feel Kenma picking up on it too, stiffening. 

"Just a friend," Yaku mutters, reading their energy, rolling his eyes. "Now, anyway. We just broke up."

"Yikes," Kuroo says. "Sorry."

"We were visiting her family for the holidays," Yaku says. "I was supposed to stay down here another week, but."

"You ended it in the middle of a trip?" Kuroo asks. "It went sideways that fast?" 

Yaku shrugs one shoulder, and he looks more exhausted by the topic than hurt. It must have been building for a while, then.

"Hey, catch this movie with us," Kuroo says, at the same time Kenma asks, "Do you want to stay with us?"

"Yeah," Kuroo agrees, only now noticing that Yaku's wearing a rather loaded backpack, probably all the belongings he brought on his trip down from Chuo. "We're right down the block. We've got room."

Yaku gaze darts between the two of them. 

The look on his face brings back the unpleasant feeling first, before Kuroo can match it with the memory, coming in pieces. Yaku, lingering in his doorway, Kuroo, drunk, on the bed, trying so hard to hold back his tears that he's shaking, gritting his teeth. That's right. After Kuroo's father died. It's the first time Kuroo's revisited the awful memory while sober, appreciating this element: Yaku realizing he was not welcome there, taking a step back, then vanishing. 

"Really," Kuroo says, not prepared for how serious it came out. He voice almost shook.

Yaku still looks uncertain, "I don't… "

"Really," Kenma says it this time.

Yaku and Kenma lock gazes, having some sort of – intense unspoken conversation.

"At least watch the movie," Kuroo interrupts, feeling what can only be described as childish jealousy that he wasn't being included. "Then we can go get something to eat, then get you drunk, then you'll have to stay over."

"Fine," Yaku says, and takes a step forward to be, officially, in line. "What are we seeing?"

" _Tenshoin_ ," Kenma says, before Kuroo can say anything. 

They do get tickets for _Tenshoin_ , a historical drama, which is an interesting development, because it had been Kuroo's choice at the beginning of the night. Kenma had been set against it, and Kuroo ended up caving, agreeing to Kenma's choice, a remake of the classic horror _Jigoku_.

Kuroo takes the seat in the middle at the theater, and makes a show of spreading his arms along the back of both Kenma and Yaku's chairs, hoping for a reaction, but either they don't notice or just don't care, sitting down on either side. Kuroo blinks at how easy it felt. 

_Why not both?_ is the greedy, absurd thought, as Yaku drops the snacks in Kuroo's lap, so all three of them can reach.

It's an impossible solution, but one that Kuroo indulges himself with. He _could_. He knows how to take care of Kenma, and how to take care of Yaku, he knows what they need, and they know what each other needs, and what he needs – 

Does Yaku even like guys, though? Kenma certainly knows the answer to that, and his weird reaction, the tension during the tournament, reminds him that this is fully a fantasy. They haven't even spoken to Yaku for months, he just got out of a relationship, apparently, with a woman. Literally nothing about this situation should be encouraging Kuroo to act, and it's not something he should risk losing Kenma over. _Not even if it meant gaining Yaku.. ?_

He watches Yaku watch the movie, then lean over Kuroo's lap to whisper some comment to Kenma. It makes Kenma grin.

Kuroo tips his head up, staring blankly at the ceiling of the theater, wondering what sort of higher power would tease him like this. 

They decide to pick up take out on the way home. They go to their usual place – Kuroo and Yaku will eat anything, and there's no resentment from Yaku as the order is dictated by Kenma's picky tastes. It's their normal, every day visit, just a matter of ordering a bit more than usual.

They arrive on Kuroo and Kenma's floor, the elevator opening at the same time as Ando's apartment door. Diotsu trots happily into the hall, picking up excited speed when he catches scent of both Kenma, and the food they're carrying. 

"Whoa," Yaku says, holding the food up a little higher as Diostu sniffs him on his way to Kenma. 

"Kozume! Kuroo!" Ando greets, happily. "And who's your friend?"

"Ando-san, this is our old schoolmate, Yaku," Kuroo introduces, as he unlocks the door of his apartment. "Yaku, this is Ando. And Diotsu."

"Nice to meet you, Yaku!" Ando says, jovial and loud.

"Nice to meet – sorry, Ando-san," Yaku says, sticking out his leg, blocking Diotsu's beeline for Kenma as he attempts to creep along the wall, to escape. "My friend doesn't like dogs."

"I've heard, but Diotsu is a sweetheart – "

"Sure," Yaku says, gently pushing the dog back toward Ando with his foot. "But he's still a dog."

"But Diotsu's so small, it's not – "

"Yeah," he says. "But my friend isn't good with small dogs either, so – oh, good, you have his leash. Let me help." 

Balancing the food with one hand, Yaku bends down, hooking his finger under Diotsu's collar, lifting it slightly, presenting the loop for Ando to clip the leash on. He waits, looking up at Ando expectantly.

"Ah," Ando says, slowly unlooping the leash from around his hand. "Thank you."

"Nice meeting you," Yaku bows shortly as Ando passes, backing into Kuroo and Kenma's apartment. He closes the door behind him, setting down the food, taking off his shoes, letting his backpack drop to the floor, and only when he turns around does he notices the stunned, silent stares of Kuroo and Kenma. 

"What?"

~

Kuroo's only ever been with Kenma, but enough of his friends have gone through breakups for him to be familiar with this dance. Over dinner Yaku tells them about his ex, and can't seem to make up his mind between bragging, and sour little insults. 

"She dropped out of college to help her parents business, then started her own," he says, and Kuroo hums in the appropriately impressed tone. "But leaves it to her brother half the time to run it." Kuroo makes the appropriate tsk.

"How long had you been seeing each other?" Kuroo asks. "Meeting the parents over the holidays. That's pretty heavy stuff."

"Nine months," Yaku says. "I guess that's fast."

"Well, if you felt a connection..."

"I don't think I did," Yaku says, pushing a dumpling back on forth on his plate a little aggressively. "Just. After high school."

He stops there, and Kuroo can respect that, and he opens his mouth to change the subject. 

Kenma, though, goes for the throat.

"What about high school?" he asks.

Yaku looks over, expression unreadable. 

"After _high school_ ," he says, the emphasis odd, but it makes Kenma flinch. "I wanted something upfront. And she was... very upfront."

A long bit of silence, until Kenma finally goes back to eating. 

"Think you'll hear from her again?" Kuroo asks.

"Nope," Yaku says.

"Damn," Kuroo says, twisting open the saki, peering inside. 

"How much do we have?" Kenma asks.

"Maybe a shot," Kuroo says, swirling the liquid at the bottom of the bottle. "Maybe two. _Damn,_ " he hisses again. Kuroo would really like a drink right now. Not a lot – just _something_ , because he's finally cottoned on to the fact that Yaku and Kenma probably hooked up at some point in high school. 

After _Kenma_ , Yaku needed something up front. Possibly after Kuroo, too. 

… Did they fuck Yaku up? 

"I actually might have something better," Yaku says. He grabs his bag, unzipping one of the side pockets. "My ex left behind some – stuff. I was just going to throw it out. Probably."

He pulls out a baggy, and the only reason Kuroo recognizes what's inside is because he just watched a French movie that had featured weed as a romantic, drifty concept. 

Kenma is confused, though, taking the bag from Yaku and looking it over. "What is this?"

"Buds," Yaku says, fingers dancing nervously on the kotosu. "Marijuana buds." 

Kenma nearly drops it. 

Kuroo can write a detailed paper about marijuana use and its health impact – negligible at worst, certainly nothing as damaging as cigarettes – but Japanese weed is a different thing than other countries, there are really no networks to obtain it that don't involve gangs and violence, and no way to buy it without knowing your money has lined the pocket of a very terrible person. At least as far as Kuroo knows. One of Kuroo's reasons for wanting to visit other countries is specifically the chance to be able to try it, and other things like it, guilt-free. 

"She had a friend who grew it," Yaku says. "Apparently."

All three of them stare at the bag in Kenma's fingers. 

"Do you just smoke it?"

"I've got some rolling paper," Yaku says, pulling out a second pack. He says he's never done it himself, but watching him go, this is a little hard to believe. 

After they attempt to light it, and take a hit, it becomes a little easier. 

"Breathe, buddy," Kuroo says, patting Yaku's back as he coughs, madly.

"We should just bake it into something," Kenma says, evaluating the buds still left in the bag. 

"That takes a lot longer to work," Yaku wheezes out, wiping at his tears. 

Both Kuroo and Yaku stare, stunned, as Kenma pops an entire bud into his mouth.

It's the start of the strangest erection Kuroo's ever had, something about the cheeky, reckless way he does it, but it seems to convince both of them.

Kuroo looks up recipes, then starts grabbing what he'll need form the kitchen. 

"Seriously," Yaku is saying. "If we eat it, it'll take hours to hit, and it's already late."

"It's not that late, it's just dark," Kuroo says. "And I don't have any plans tomorrow." Neither does Kenma, and neither does Yaku, obviously. 

Kuroo makes a stack of pot pancakes from a recipe he finds online, in english. When they're finished, they stand in the kitchen and eat them like animals, no toppings, no chopsticks or forks. 

And then they wait.

~

It's Yaku's idea to play cards in the meantime, and they complete a few successful rounds of poker. As they reach their high, though, their concentration starts drifting more and more. 

One game is interrupted by an immediate and necessary trip down to the convenience store across the street, where Kuroo struggles to figure out how to pay for fried chicken, candies, and energy drinks, until the clerk sighs in exasperation, takes the card from Kuroo's hand, and sticks it into the reader.

"Oh, yeah," Kuroo laughs, because that really was obvious, wasn't it? "Thanks."

The clerk just stares, unimpressed, as they shuffle back out into the snow, then up to the apartment.

The cards are scattered across the kotosu, so while Yaku and Kenma dump out their chicken, Kuroo gathers up the cards, and shuffles them.

"Pick a card," Kuroo says.

Obediently, Yaku and Kenma reach across the table and pick cards.

"Great," Kuroo says. "Excellent. Put them back."

They place them on the deck in Kuroo's hand, watching with almost comical concentration. 

Kuroo shuffles the deck again, then, at random, grabs one of the cards. "Is this your card?"

"No," Yaku says. Kuroo turns it toward Kenma, who shakes his head.

"Alright," Kuroo says, and shuffles the deck again. "Is this your card?"

"No," Yaku says, this time frowning, looking a little confused. 

"No," Kenma agrees.

"Hm," Kuroo says. He shuffles again. He picks another one. "Your card?"

"Kuroo, you suck at this," Yaku says.

"I guess I do," Kuroo says, shuffling again. "This?"

"What the fuck sort of magic trick is this?" Yaku asks, pushing Kuroo's hand out of his face.

"I never said I was doing a magic trick," Kuroo says, and shuffles the cards again, very seriously.

The snort comes from Kenma.

"What the fuck," Yaku says.

"Is this your card?"

"What the fuck," Yaku is starting to shake with the beginning of laughter. "Are you doing?"

"Yes or no?" Kuroo asks, holding the card closer to his face.

" _No_ ," Yaku is trying hard to hold it in, pushing Kuroo's hand away, but Kenma's mouth is wobbling, covering his face with both hands.

"Interesting," Kuroo says, and goes back to shuffling.

"Fucking – what the fuck," they're both laughing now, watching him shuffle.

"Is this your card?"

Kenma doesn't even move his hands from his face, bending forward as he laughs. 

"You – you're just – grabbing at random?" Yaku asks, gripping the table as he laughs.

"Yakkun, I'm trying to concentrate on finding Kenma's card," Kuroo says, very seriously. "Please stop laughing at me, it's very rude."

"Shut the fuck up," Yaku sobs, seriously punching Kuroo's chest as he laughs. "Oh fuck."

"Okay," Kuroo says. "Is this your card?"

And both Kenma and Yaku lose it. 

Laughter is a team effort. Activity spotting all across the brain, memory, logic, auditory and muscle control, setting each other off like dominions, working together, a practiced and perfected dance after hundreds of thousands of years of polish in the human psyche, resulting in a state of brief euphoria, unlocking a wide, open smile, bright eyes, a short, giddy sound, embarrassing snorts. 

Pot does not introduce anything new to a person's system, simply starts handing out what's already there in generous armfuls. It makes the part of the brain that processes humor stronger, but that's the frontal area, the area that holds the important things, the reasoning and logic.

As Kenma watches Kuroo go about this utterly inane task, all that's happening is his brain is more receptive, those spots waiting and ready to be triggered, to send a pleasant tingle through him, resulting in a smile that's more in his eyes than his mouth, shoulders bouncing merrily. 

Kuroo knows it's happening in him, as well, watching the two of them react, can feel happy hum in him – or maybe he's just imagining it.

But he knows the parts of Yaku and Kenma, the network that makes up their personalities, are lit up, as bright as they can possibly be, and in this moment the things that make them the most _them_ are delighted with Kuroo, and he's left feeling quietly giddy. 

The cards end up forgotten, scattered on the floor, and they turn their attention to a cartoon, or three, or four – or maybe it's a movie. Kuroo keeps forgetting the plot, and the characters. 

One of them remind him of Bokuto, and during a commercial break, he looks over to see if Kenma agrees, he sees that Kenma and Yaku have knotted together, like before, like that soft way they can get, only with each other, Yaku's head on Kenma's shoulder, and Kenma's hand seeking out warmth in Yaku's shirt, Yaku's hand in Kenma's hair. 

Kuroo doesn't ask his already forgotten question, deciding that he'd like to be a ghost, to just watch how this progresses. 

Yaku's fingers have dropped from Kenma's hair to his neck, investigating the patch of vulnerable flesh that still fascinates Kuroo today. Eventually Yaku pushes forward, nuzzling against it, and then Kenma turns his head, and it becomes a kiss. 

There's something familiar about the way they're moving. Experienced. Known. They've done this before, Kuroo already figured out, but that was clinical knowledge. This is the _thing_ , the hot, wet, lewd, _thing_ that they had done.

It's lazy, slow movements of their lips together, and long pauses between that, just sitting, forehead to forehead, like they might fall asleep.

"Kuroo," Kenma blinks when he notices Kuroo watching, and it breaks the lazy atmosphere. His tone is vaguely accusatory, which doesn't make sense until Kuroo realizes he's started to palm himself during this performance. 

"Well shit," Kuroo says, pulling his hand away quickly. "What'd you want me to do, turn around?"

Kenma frowns, but Yaku seems smug. He gives Kuroo's crotch a long, considering look, which gets Kuroo harder than he's felt in a while, and this high, is a pretty heady experience. Then he looks up at Kuroo's face, and grins, and goes back to making out with Kenma.

"Shit," Kuroo says, going back to attending himself immediately, and he can't even get mad. 

Kuroo's attention seems to kill Kenma's mood, though. They make out a little longer, then he slumps away from Yaku's attention, eventually resting with his head on Yaku's lap. 

Kenma is sleepy. Yaku puts his fingers to his lips. _Shh_.

Kuroo and Yaku decide to go out onto the porch. They want to look at the night sky. It's cold out there, though, and all the clouds and the snow make it impossible to see anything other than ambient light from the city. 

"They're not really there anyway," Kuroo says.

"What's not?" Yaku asks.

"The stars," Kuroo says. It made sense that Yaku asked, though, because they're back inside again, laying out in the living room. Kuroo's curled himself around Kenma's dozing body. "They're dead. When you look into the sky, you're looking into the past."

Yaku's voice drifts from some unknown location in the apartment. "That's depressing."

"But I guess," Kuroo sighs. "Everything you see is the past. It's just so recent it might as well be the present."

"Shut up, Kuroo," Yaku says, rolling over, suddenly directly in Kuroo's face. So that's where Yaku was. Kuroo rolls away from Kenma, to take this challenge on like a man, face to face.

Yaku glares at Kuroo a bit, then reaches forward and pokes his cheek. Kuroo decides to let him mess around with his face as much as he likes, forcing one eye to shut with this thumb, then the other, then tugging the skin below his eye down a bit. 

After a while of this, Kuroo stops him by covering Yaku's hands with his, pulling them away from his face. He's looking into past now, he thinks, seeing Yaku's face. But like he said, it's useless. If it was useful, he could actually do something to fix it. If he did something to hurt Yaku. If he made the wrong decision. _Did he hurt Yaku?_ the question is fretting, anxious in his mind.

"Sorry," Kuroo says.

Yaku frowns. He doesn't know what Kuroo's talking about, but still, he answers, "Good."

Kuroo laughs, and then they're kissing. 

He's soft. He's so soft as Kuroo fucks into him, and it's nothing like he expected, the open wetness of Yaku's eyes. 

"Kuroo," 

He didn't think it would be like this, Yaku's so open and he's panting out each time Kuroo thrusts in, 

"Kuroo,"

He feels good, Yaku feels good, his cock is hard against Kuroo's stomach, cradled safely between them as Kuroo continues to snap his hips forward. 

"Kuh – Kuroo – "

Yaku's hands are at the back of Kuroo's head, bringing him in close in an openly tender, openly gentle touch and it makes Kuroo ache. He touches Yaku with as much tenderness as he can in return, like Yaku is a fragile thing, a precious thing, a thing Kuroo has to keep tucked as close to his heart as possible. He didn't think it would be like this, and he feels his eyes start to sting, for some reason, pushing into Yaku harder, deeper.

"Morisuke," Kuroo finally answers. 

Yaku sobs, hands clenching, nails digging into Kuroo's shoulders. 

Kuroo tips his head back, gasping, to keep from saying what he's learned from fucking Kenma: _love you, love you,_ he feels it in this moment, he knows it's not Kenma, but – 

" _Kuroo_ ," he sobs. 

How could he not? With Yaku so soft for him – Kuroo bends down, kissing Yaku hard to keep the thought in, but thinks, from the way Yaku shivers, and comes, that it might have escaped anyway.

~

He wakes up when it's still dark out, and feels warm, all over, and realizes he's in bed. Kenma is beside him, and there's a second ball of warmth on his right, the soft press of Yaku's forehead against his shoulder, protecting it from the usual chill of the room.

~

When he wakes up again he's cold.

Sitting up, he rubs at his face, and tries to make sense of his exhaustion combined with the bright, mid-day light of his room. Barely stringing together the events of last night, he shuffles out to the living room.

"You leaving?"

Yaku is kneeling next to the door. He avoids eye contact, packing up his bag. "I'll just exchange my ticket back to Chuo for one today. It's fine."

There's silence. Yaku rubs hard at his eye, which is red, probably from the pot, but is there a possibility – is it possible that Yaku had been – crying? 

"Yaku – "

"You're not leaving him," Yaku says. "And he's not leaving you. Is there anything else to say?"

Kuroo stays silent. His mind is still foggy, still confused from the night before. He’s reacting just as much to Yaku’s tone as his words: he knows Yaku wants an argument, wants scathing, hateful words and Kuroo doesn’t have that in him right now and doesn’t want to discuss this like that. 

"Anyway," Yaku takes a quick breath, pushing himself up, picking up his bag. "You look good."

And Yaku slips out the door, quick, painless, silent.


End file.
